Poets are full of magic
Magical spells cast from the depth of life
And sometime horrendous memories of sorrow
Wraps around their heads
With their clandestine intentions
Rubbing into their minds
The life experiences of both the wicked and the good
The happy ones and those full of sorrow
Are captured by the wavering ink
As it flows from the master’s hand
The pen stupefied by the content of its belly
Bellowing out huge chunks of words
With hidden meaning and purpose
The code of the gods revealed
By the colorful flow of words
As they meander across the plain
The blank stares on the pages of time
Filled to the brim with blossoming words
Flowers of messages coming in all sorts of color
The magic of poetry in full bloom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem