I am a celebration of your greatness
A soaring victory molded by your hands
A mastery, a work of art, a mystery.
I have been stared at with eyes that drowned with admiration
Men have traveled the world over to peruse me
I have triggered thousands of things to be written
describing, the waves, the lengths, the pressures of your strokes
the colors and the textures that compose my beauty
But truly all my life I have been ignored
Shadowed over by this seemingly perfect creation that I am
Hanged and Imprisoned in a four-cornered cell
Who cares if it was made of Gold?
And each day passes people arrive
Look at me like I was their own image
Glorifying, Discerning
And I gawk back mirroring the same thoughts
Without words, saying to each other:
'Where you're at is where I want to be'
Why wouldn't you tell them,
-So they would stop wondering too,
Alas! they would stop questioning:
'What was she thinking? '
'Why was she smiling? '-
the price I pay for your genius to be stored?
So why wouldn't you tell them?
How I laugh at them
How I think of them badly as fools
Praising a captive, wishing to be jailed
only to be looked at, only to be exalted
Forgetting the world. Forgetting Freedom!
And so they would ask:
'Is she happy? '
but who really cares?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem