i often wonder...
if i'm preaching to the choir,
skimming rocks across a lake,
building kingdoms in the sand.
do you hear what i'm hearing?
do you feel the shudder, and the shake?
do you lie sleepless in the night?
do you walk barefoot into the darkness?
are my words made of stone?
of feathers? of dust?
is my heart an open door,
with no knob, no lock, no key?
i cannot hold the wind
in my old hands...
i know, for i have tried!
nor capture moonlight in a bowl.
i am nothing but a shell,
holding the echoes to your ears.
the sound of the flute,
and the sound of your hearts...
a journey you must take!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fantastic poem, we all have to take the journy. A great write.