In to the tapestries of Thought
The brain
Roams meandering
Child not yet a Youth
Yet
Of puberty in throes.
And
In the throes of Beauty.
Moves with learning
And sacrifice.
Makes and dreams
More and more Beauty incarnate
Ever-increase incarnate
Evolution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The child in this poem is in the THROES OF PUBERTY, an explosive time of life when psychic energy has no where to go but out, to burn itself out. But to qualify the experience with also THE THROES OF BEAUTY suggests a nascent artist, who is still dazzled by surfaces but how else can you get beneath the surface to some inner validation without first exploring the superficial. Of course, someone so young is going to roam, meander, ready to follow any lead which promises - evolution. Finally, a pattern. coherence, our child is leaving puberty behind.