Tired of reality, its delusions,
The Poetess thought, 'How incredible
A mind's mechanisms and inventions
In perceiving life. To make legible
Internal feelings, thoughts, intuitions, fears
Which may be right or wrong. Insanity
Grips like a golden eagle hawk so fierce,
Flying heights surpassed by one's vanity.'
Who will determine what is true or false?
If I retell some dreams and fantasies,
Who believes? A hawk soars to mountains, falls
To canyons and ravines, glides over seas...
'I have built a nest of hairs full of lies -
Black and white reality, fiction flies...'
A classical style of poetry, an exceptional verse. Lovely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Please watch my reading of my own poem for a new character for a future play/screenscript The Poetess Lies.