Beckoning turmoil to turn around and bring a sense of peace towards an ending of sorts.
Stringing along beats of everyday acknowledgement, stranding each thought on islands of deserted serenity.
Reading books along edges of tidal waves, hoping to belong somewhere in some space in time.
Living carefully, afraid to stop and smell the flowers, keeping a sense of goodness in heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem