Awe by the light.
He stares with bare eyes.
The thunder roars up in the sky.
Loudly he cries.
The storm passed.
The calm he grasped,
within his palm.
Doubting in his heart.
What is real?
It is hidden from majorities.
Nothing is clear.
Histories give born theories.
Still wondering.
Is this the true path?
Still searching.
For the mystery lies on the journeys.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem