THERE is not such thing
as a stagnant self,
a flowing river,
a waterfall,
a pouring rain
an evaporating dew
a gone away mist
sunshine falling
a seed sprouting
tendril curling
the winds blowing,
there is no such thing
as an I,
THAT does not change its form
it is the growing I,
THE changing me inside this
ever changing body,
you cannot touch me
only once
and i who is touched
cannot react in one
and the same way
this being, this is not just
a form and a shape
but a process, a journey
in constant movement
in changing ways
never, never fixed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem