Confused ME?
I turned it off, made it rough,
Still same and still too tough,
What it was? What it did? Not knew,
The modernist's mind! ! !
It might be me, confused,
Human being, mythical being,
I might not have the knowledge enough,
Some told me, some asked me,
But I listened not, not I answered,
And suddenly I got the idea, it was I,
Who created that hype, perturbing all?
It was only confusion my pal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Quintessence of confusion. Modernist angst of not knowing yourself, your location, your purpose. When being is bewildering. Only if one had clarity. An existentialist poem. Great write! I like it boy!