A land my native thought relays on
Earliest to birth and the sun,
Where mortal mind sought,
Of her hands in tuneful heart.
The path leads and passes
To all immortality within a emptiness,
In her smile to pen all night,
Towards dawn on a derailed plot.
That would never die on death,
Though it be the winter breath,
Be sung as ages of old – past,
That she will not tarnish to grey dust.
In 12 O’ clock, ticks to hours of absence,
With steady stars as universe,
While the singing wind loses her rhythm,
Tomorrow to days and months of bygone –
Heart penned the name of another moon.
A fountain dazzles in darkness,
With memories, that prevailed over a cloud,
To shade while on dreaded sand to move –
Within precious hands, tipping the stand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem