The beauty of what we see is based on judgment
Of the heart, the ideal standard of what's real
Our eyes deceive, minds conceive
Half-truths, making rules,
Does not go by
The books
But the
Heart
Hides words
Indelible, steady
Beyond time, tested
And steadfast, made to last
Not judging by looks but by what's
Inherent, rising above cacophony of voices
The silent little voice of the heart shushing the mind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem