Your voice-
a ripple in the air,
a soft current that bends the world,
breaking silence into meaning.
Your words-
not merely sounds,
but roots sinking deep,
shaping forests in the barren.
You speak,
and time stretches,
each phrase a thread weaving
what was, what is, what could be.
Your voice,
your words-
not rhyme nor rhythm,
but the truth of being.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem