the brain is a labryinth of mysteries
large as space for us to criss cross
like a parasite we can make use of a
tiny wee bit corner of it for abundance
how we tap the sun at the edge of universe
the bonus i s we can throw in some figures
to get the confirmation that we are in control
and that it is our best friend when trust
with them is concerned
in the labryinth is a voluntary slave
who let himself be worked but sleeps
the night away at its own fancy
we work it, till it and thought
we own it until we are shakened
in the dead of night when an
an echo from some caves send us
a message with a voice not of our own
the brain is a labryinth of lives
past, present and future,
i am glad i sometimes could find
those i had lost dearly there
and always with tears,
the brain is a labryinth of God
I occupy only a tiny wit bit of it
the sun at the corner of the universe
i wait for Him to light up all the best chambers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem