Filing memories inside my mind, capturing their essences in quick thoughts seen in pictures and placed on screens so I may see what I'm writing.
Carefully planning ideas without even thinking, taking them from a sound, a quirk of nature, a person walking by.
Taking it all in stride, I prepare more poetry before I finally die.
Steady motion and rhythm get hold of me and automatic writing flows through - unblocked by anything or anyone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem