God employs several translators
More than kisses, letters
Alphabets of musings, mingled souls
I to writers, for writers, must watch
The scripts are for minds
Such as them, and verse
Like love built on beauty
Soon beauty dies, we have but
One small voice, one timid note of Spring
These poems be it said
Were as my own personal serenity of heaven
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That drip, drop, sunsets in my mind
To bathe in harmless greatness
With enlightenment, nature’s masterpieces
May your words, be thine own palace
Thy own lover’s make, repeat
These mantras that God employs
In us, we are but translators, preachers
Of the doctrine of the universe
But I do nothing upon myself
Yet I am my own celebrator
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Since you would read none of me
I will bury my freedom here
In symbols of pleasure derived
And delivered solely unto me
For myself as kisses, letters
Alphabets of song and ruin
Pleasure diversified, words not ignored
For God’s sake do not hold your tongue
But speak your part to the world’s
Brittle make, not often is a poet born
The days will break, but not thy heart
And a thousand poems be born form thy pen.
Wuji Seshat 