Such a mystery,
Anonymous can be.
Why I ask,
For everything anonymous you can see.
The pages of books,
All filled with words.
To give a name to art,
Now that would be absurd.
Yet we go about our lives,
Titling as we go.
And mystery creeps,
When anonymous speaks,
Is that not so?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Short.. and meaningful.. nice piece.