all she did was
write about a leaf, or a bird perching
one rainy day upon a grain
of wheat,
voila! she is great
just like the way Picasso uses only two lines
to draw a breast of a feeding woman
how foolish can you be!
searching for the golden ant with silver wings
trying to please them
with it
all toil,
suffering yourself like
a Sisyphus,
you are still nothing but a
trying hard, copycat
forget about it,
junk them
discover the great self within you
believe me, Shakespeare was
a slave of his audience
and the king....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem