Hungry for tidbits of wisdom, meeting with ideas in filing
cabinets kept throughout the years.
Lying down in beds of roses, never going to sleep, placidly
watching as many questions remain unanswered.
None seeming to be qualified to touch upon their truths or
reality.
Wandering aimlessly, traveling into jungles of other times,
letting mysteries accumulate and be left unwritten on steps
of unspoken wisdom.
Chapels along the way being treasured with thoughts that will
never be spoken, only put on pages of silent poems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem