Presenting things,
As they could be.
Sometimes a mental mockery,
Sometimes a mental tragedy,
Transforming harsh reality,
Emotions, feelings speed ahead,
With abstract paintings in your head.
A dance expressive does begin,
Where hidden passions feel like Sin,
Acceleration, tension mounts,
Then only Writing is What counts.
That's how the Poet's World explodes!
In sudden spurts, emotion grows,
And when the Festive Lights begin
You don't know if you'll lose or win.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There are no guarantees, nothing is fated to succeed in ALL circumstances. But that does not stop us or even stall us - we just keep at it and never, ever give up (Well, OK, sometimes we have to surrender for the sake of our mental/physical health) . Hamlet was so right when he tells Horatio: THE READINESS IS ALL. When the bird of inspiration, like the Roc bird in ARABIAN NIGHTS, stops its flight and says, Hey, Poet, climb on my back, and we are flying - f-l-y-i-n-g, we better be ready indeed to create AT THAT VERY MOMENT.