In the beginning
I knew they were sober;
they followed the tracks
of my imagination
without a cloud of doubt -
chugging along coherently;
sometimes shifting momentum
like a snail,
then a tortoise,
and now moving
with the pace of a hare;
at every bend sometimes
it pauses momentarily
to diffuse some ideas,
or relinquish a few,
or let the hurried fritters
exit without loitering
on the memory bank;
each station of thinking
harbors more fresh ideas
keeping the momentum
at a steady pace,
and embracing divisiveness
to freely coordinate
a successful train of thought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem