This poem is about the wordless, the beautiful.
What, do you need a manual, to feel the heat of the sun?

Look, look at this beauty. It has no reason.
Feel its blessing. Nothing is as good as this.

Perhaps this poem is a miracle. Perhaps it’s a trick.
It was written by the inside voice.

No-one can describe what that voice knows; not even me.
Nobody knows which shell hides the pearl.


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