Mind walking into images of perfection that are being held
up in annals of time and literature, sequences of beauty
falling into an order that will never exist except in the
poetry of this mere poet.
Living in depths of musical rhythms that intensify as each
and every day passes by, leaving a pathway filled with many
images and traces of a life that has already been lived here
on earth, now being seen all around the world in silent words
of prose forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem