The young writer
Minutely sees everywhere,
But he finds nothing
In the atmosphere,
Everything seems to him
Meaningless and and insignificant,
But when he takes his beloved pen and paper,
The sense of beauty sparks within him
With great stature,
Soon the author feels infinite beauty
Everywhere in the vast sphere,
This feeling leads him to the ashore
With flying colours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem