I miss the feeling,
When I'm not reeling;
When I am one;
When I'm with my One.
It's a stable place,
There is no race;
Just freshness,
Of my bareness.
Where silence is not amiss,
But the consequence of bliss;
It's my abode,
Part of my barcode.
It's not my way,
to hold on to times faraway,
That's just passé;
But to do my work and be ready,
For times that will come My way;
As sure as Yesterday.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem