sometimes as you write a hundred or more poems
you wish someone with taste
the one without which nothing will be called 'poetic'
shall read you and understand the greatness of your
words and style,
someone with a long black hair
smooth skin and possessing that intellectual flare
reads one of your poems and says
' i like this and i shall keep this
did you really write this? '
and you are so flattered that you forget that all the while
on the 5,000th poem
you have been writing all about yourself
on some pain of rejection
that love interest that never responded
that one so beautiful and yet had never laid her eyes on you.
and then, you smile, after all on that poem
inside those images, you appear to be lovable
and she, is never one ordinary fan.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well, I will reveal this: I have nappy hair that is dreaded. I am a Black male who enjoys good writing. And although I may not qualify as the one implied in your composition, 'sometimes you wish someone will know the greatness of a poem' I still enjoyed reading it. Nice work, Ric