Creation
I recall first class after years…
It was hard…
Then easy:
“Writing is having your character travel…”
“From, to, and return…”
“The rest is…”
Prof was clear:
“You are God, create…”
Then she said:
“A writer can listen, can ignore the others…”
Years went by, I am out, New God…
Frankly I can see inside out
For loving and hating
There are times.
“Best Core is the truth, or real…”
As I heard is word of Hemingway.
“And the rest? ” my question.
This is where waste is lot.
“Must know your audience…”
We are told.
So we chew, swallow, and vomit.
Therefore guilt for nonsense
The buyer, or reader, or people.
Am I God? Greedy for name, fame?
I spend lot of time in thinking and making
This is why my hard-disks are full but
Nothing is printed…nothing out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem