Pounding sensations becoming rhythms of internal being,
reclamating their essense in strides of apoplexy and
grief.
Turning crosswords upside in as words collect them-
selves non-committally on adjacent sentences, grouped
together for novel facets of visionary aptitude,
sitting on sidelines of bough-shaped hopes, grasping
eternity through a lifetime of poetry set in lines of
odes, creating everlasting beauty and a sense of
timelessness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem