the number will go beyond
the number of stars if we count
the heads of all poetry writers.
only few are lucky to be poets!
so many are ever secluded
by the nebula of personal melancholy;
only a few, quite few they are
who stomp on the terrestrial Milky Way!
seven deadly sins spare no poets too
as they are humans, not an alien craft`s crew.
what`s more an evil curse befalls upon
such poor souls that weave poetry of futurity!
we gape at the loud gains in their loose pouch
but overlook the bag heavy with mute losses,
what slings about the drooping left shoulder;
as we seldom see the scene behind a sight!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem