Like Omar and Tagore before
it ripens and it longs for more
lo and behold it can't be stopped
and with an axe it can't be chopped
let Thor or Donar be my proof
Electra crawled just through my roof
my scull a scalp just offering
the letter families just string
they dive like arches through my skin
and beg me just to write, begin
or force me just by farce major
and make my feather sharpened poor
with every drop of ink a dot
a bleaker skin that knoweth not
as if I did not write at all
it leaves me back so very small. M
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem