in terms of
the word written
telling something
that there is something inside you
that clicks
and beats and screams and calms down
like a slam
of a door from someone who decides
finally to leave
in terms of disbelief
about what happens on the day
when you are struck
with sadness
the poems begin to grow in your mind
and they become trees
and trees
are poems and so
be frank to admit now that
you are a poet
lousy or what.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem