Words pass the air with rapid success,
Words and more words shall gather in bliss.
Their faces are passages of concern,
A limit to the function seems in doubt,
With numbers on numbers of practices,
Solved only by the language-keepers.
Some of them collapse and dissolve, like
Ink in the depths of the ocean, the ocean
That derives a meaning from meanings,
Where words have been convincing and proud.
The words are alight like fires on torches,
Their meanings are attached to the heart.
While we speak and solve the mysteries of time,
Works are written from within the souls,
Inner light is conspicuous due to burden on the
Soul so sadder than the rest of time, the time of
Understanding, when men of thought admit
Of their philosophies, with writing and speech.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem