A poet is naturally a cynical person at best,
A poet is always critical, good times or under duress
I am not ashamed of this fact, no need to keep get it off my chest
I am simply giving the truth, poets are a glass half empty crowd at best
A poet is writing at his peak when mocking a given fact
Feeling no need to keep good feelings intact
like a cook, we mix up a recipe and see how our guests react
We are disreputable at best and many think us to be cracked
A poet is a neurotic, we do not really care what others may say
We quibble, we scribble and wander our own way
We write on papers but in reality, we can only bleat and blay
And in the end it is we who are unceremoniously kicked out of the way
So rebel, loose life, cynicist, neurotic, in training
Writing or complaining, or simply feigning
A poet is still an person, on barely any self sustaining
but proud to be an artist of an age fast waning
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem