Interior attitudes adjusting quietly unbeknownest to
anyone.
Sanguinely detached from outward motivational urges,
thoughtfully turning over, staying far away from
crowds of people.
Fixating purposeful meanings on slates of glass,
looking through them into plates of fastidious growth.
Rounding corners of unsurpassed eloquence, retiring
minds stand off, while watching life pivot and turn
in other directions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem