I am not alone, an Imp lives in me,
The Imp is Impassioned Idiot,
Sometime Idle,
Sometimes runs behind Ideals,
Most of them are mere Illusions,
Idolum it sketches, idols it carves!
Ignonimous that Imp is,
Over Imaginative and impulsive,
Intuitions confused with illusions,
Innocent and ignorant,
Innocent and ignorant about its own Ignorances,
Impertinent and impetuous,
Impinge on Implex Theories, doctrines and ideologies!
Interested always its own idyll,
Roaming Isolated in illation and imagination,
Falling to own Immature imaginations,
Sometime Implore and sometimes explore,
Impractical and Imprecate its fate!
Interested in amusements,
Interested in pleasures,
Interested in expression to impress,
than impressive expressions!
That implacable, impious impish, imposter finally feel tired,
Looks at that Greater I in me,
And Impetrate to enter into
Impervious, imperturbable,
Immovable, impartial, impeccable, Inimitable And illimitable 'I'!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem