![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/a27d24_de53ba94b48f4adcbea66d3bdfca3c7a~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_132,h_156,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/a27d24_de53ba94b48f4adcbea66d3bdfca3c7a~mv2.jpg)
There are not so many poems,
I have written about you,
because you have never taught me,
to disregard,
now which I never want to acquire,
from the reality that,
by the time I prepare myself
to pour about you,
I am instantly brought to a field
of beyond the idea of right and wrong doings,
where I can only feel the pulse of the earth, the rhythm of the seasons and
converse with the internal voice
which is my childhood friend.