Silent wordscapes
dream on the palette.
The brushstrokes bridge
through the thin air
the quiet space between
matter and mind.
Slowly the lines,
emerge like reticent songs,
born from
the inaudible music
of the heart,
and they flow meandering
through the canvas.
They give rise to forms
evolve in muted verse,
create a garden of images,
where flowers of summer
bloom and icicles grow
on the edges of roofs.
And then taciturn thoughts,
ardor, zest and passion
sprout into soundless odes
and sonnets.
They rise in joy,
triumphantly celebrate
the essence of painting:
poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
True feelings and emotions. I loved it.