why do so many writers
submit so many unfinished drafts
to so many critics and their dogs?
do they want to alter drafts
to please appease the opinions
of each critic and his/her dogs?
why do so many writers
not want to ignite first flames
of own creative passions?
how will so many writers
ever realize their own artistic voices
listening to critics and their dogs?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem