The Creative Genius.
The prerogative to be mimic,
And reflective as Nature's child,
You artist discover image,
And install therein your imaginative rage.
You break the tie from the primary,
And mold and recreate,
Dismayed you are not with running history,
As the Unconscious within reveals the gate.
To you the shades of Brahman on Time's mirror,
Would expand and contract and so on and so on,
The echoing green and the withering desert,
The dramas after dramas are born and gone.
You never claim any man-made adjective for your work,
As no elephant ever cares when on the way the dogs bark!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem