a thousand poems
one brought forth;
a thousand works
one can put in leather-bound volumes
endless pourings
one can scatter in cyberspace;
one reason each gave
for one’s everyday incessant thousands:
one said it is the glory of God;
one said the poem is the reason;
one said it is in one’s nature
for one cannot be anything else….
and so on each had a reason
for
a thousand poems
countless verses and numerous poems
that could put one in the Book of Records…
that could earn one titles
and by which one could append history to one’s name…
and yet dust between cornflakes are the poems of anyone;
and for all our reasons and our wondrous creations
like skin dust between cracks in one’s face are the works of anyone…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A thoughtful piece of work, well expressed in measured lines.