I will not be there
To tell you how
I was writing poems
And for what I was writing.
I know my poems
Will be there with
All metaphors, simile, etc.
Holding openly all
Love and truth.
You may discover me
In my poems at that time
But I will not be there,
To explain in details
The circumstances that
Compelled me to write.
What I was dreaming
I will not be there
To tell you, my dear.
You may refer to my words
To know the position
Of the life with nature.
I will not be there
To tell you again
How the the poems were
Flowing with my blood
Like fire in dry woods.
Let me tell you, my dear,
Come and enjoy with me
At this time here,
When I am present before you
To tell you to ultimate truth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem