Why have I wandered so far
through the figures of many days
and ciphers and patterns of fear
found in so many ways?
Why was I moved, spellbound
by symbols I once understood,
to lying the truth into sounding
as truth never would?
And why all the desperate starts,
preparing only to find
that the truth when it came to mind
was only found lost in the heart?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem