Registering deftly within, finding nothing going on,
taking up a pen, writing, waiting for something to
turn up.
Listening to music playing on a C.D. player, loving
that it can play whatever music I choose to, over
and over.
Subjugating this life to the background so writing
can be right here and now.
Loving titillating feelings experienced when being so
totally concentrated in intellect, seeing or hearing
nothing else around me.
It's such an exquisite feeling, wanting it to stay
forever, writing to my heart's content but alas, I am
still alive, a human being, who has to eat, sleep and
do natural things also.
Finally resigning self to daily tasks at times, even
though being annoyed at having to do them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem