A glass of water sat on a book of poems,
Hiding the moon,
Pointing out the angels,
Jutting out of the window.
An ominous feeling fills the air.
The moon being covered darkens the room.
The glass is removed from atop the book.
No ring of liquid is left on the book,
But the book is now very cold.
In the light of the new moon,
The golden letters, spelling the name of the long dead poet, gleam.
His ghost leaves the book and enters me.
I am cursed.
The light is burnt.
The door is broken.
I cannot stop writing.
I hide the moon again.
A glass of water sits on a book of poems.
Again your fertile imagination sallies forth with a wonderful poetic commentary on what influences your writing.
This poem would certainly be a good subject of discussion. You use so much symbolism, espcially in your use of water, moon, and book opening up room for a lot of interpretation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very imaginative I must say.