my friends sing so well the songs of the masters
by heart they memorize the instructions
and day to day they chant their names and their achievements
they all leave me here below the mountain of Individualism
up there they commune with their gods and goddesses
drinking the finest wine and clicking their wine glasses &
then the orders are given and they must in time obey
do not pity me, i am here sitting beside a rock
unprotected by the scorching sun
trying to recall by memory the best of my old poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem