why do i choose to be obscure or oblique
to gods and geniuses i only seek to speak
why does imagination could uplift me
when in reality, i sink and lay weak
why do i build emblems with my words
when iron or fire is of the mightiest lords
why can i draw Zeus' potency with my pen
and Ares' rage with feathers of birds
with a wish, i could make the universe reborn
and mold riddles with the simplest morn
out of the dark and desolate reality, i rise
to my unreal dominion, unfathomed, unworn
i could watch the storm in a perfect velvet
or feast with a painting's thousand-word banquet
what divinity do i bear in this realm
to be more like a god but less than a poet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem