I lie in pain of child bearing
As others keep on telling
That I’ll experience mirth
The moment I give birth.
I sit on pain of writing
As others keep on composing
Their trivial reflections
Devoid of ardent devotions.
This is what I’m anxious
This is why I’m cautious
To deliver thoughts unconsciously
To give birth prematurely.
I am pregnant of anger
I am pregnant of fear.
I bear with me animosity
I only hold hostility.
And to write them is unthinkable
Even holding a pen is horrible.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem