You are within me,
yet I am without you.
In order to find us,
I push through
the evolving door.
I feel the wind:
Oh, the air
in my face!
The truth or
consequential lies,
beneath the drumbeat
in the floor,
within the corridors
of my mind,
tell me
you are
not gone
without the wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem