Dry rains of lost time
no one knows your sound
no one hears your voice
The hall stands empty
its child born and gone
vanished with the keys
Lost into the ashes
of thought upon the wind
scattered past the reach
Of ember light - - hidden
in ravines of space
washed upon the cliffs
Of beauty's birth
nestled on the shores
beside the silent tides
Of form - - still,
waiting for the Founder,
the cauldron fire unseen
Until each echo
hears its own return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem