I know the algorithm of beauty
Its contours are made of clay
It is not the pencil lines
Nor the smoothness of the crayon
That opens the petals of beauty
It is not the artist's flirtatious idea
That assembles the most beautiful ornament
It is the depth of consciousness
That gives birth to the aroma of beauty
It is a combination of illusions and the sacred light
A brilliant mix of colour and contrast
It is the contradiction between light and shadows
That brings about the radiance in a flower
Beauty is not constructed
It is made into being
It is not necessarily the tools of imagination
That gives birth to beauty
It is the womb of creation
That illuminates the geometry of beauty
And the flowing stream of beauty is revealed
Beauty is not a concept
It is the fabric of creation
The atoms and the molecules of beauty
Are the sacred ink
That the Creator used to make the breath of life
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem