the eyes are always
the innocent victims of
this search....
the minds are tunnels
searching for more light...
the hands are the miners
digging for nuggets
the fingers are the slave
drivers....
the quest is always an
anonymous mistress...
the finding is not a thing
it is a manual for another journey...
the diary at the end is a blank page
there is no word which says...END.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem