We are those
people,
abusers
performers,
accusers
adorers.
We write as the victim;
We are chained to our thoughts’ constant expression.
I’d give it up in a minute for a little bit of fun...
Or beauty instead of brains,
or even to make a good first impression.
But the only impressions,
the only indentations,
Are the ones my pen makes across paper;
I know the feeling so well, the words are all recitation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poetry is a spiritual portrait of the soul......in whatever mood it might be!