Leaves, grass, sunlight, promises
billow and surge
resounding in forms, colours, intensity and dreams
until they fall, dry, dim and wan
into oblivion
but, like the moon,
a single voice within rings loud and clear
with enchanting magnificence
engulfing our whole being
until we wake up to what we are:
a tiny spark more eternal than the star.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem