Figures of speech go skating around the rink of literature,
creating an energy of contemplation that takes off soaring
into a poetical atmosphere.
Watching sounds rise and fall, cavorting evenly with rhythm
and concentration, favoring delicacies of blossoming beauty
upon taste buds of my mind.
Savoring sounds of music within my mouth, letting them swim
and dive, eventually being swallowed with intellect.
Using them to bring about poetical codes, usurping needs of
bodily functions in lieu of this soul's happiness.
Quietly sitting in salt mines of lost November evenings,
functioning no longer, being allowed to flow through my
fingers like sand fallen from a broken hour glass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem