A poet’s life is an awkward one,
he sits with pen and paper in hand,
writes down what comes into his head,
prints it up, reads it through,
only to find that someone
a blinkin’ word he’s written.
The most frustrating part
is that he understands it perfectly well,
so now he has to explain and tell
what the whole thing is about.
At times, a poet’s life
just wants to make you scream and shout.
So you take pen in hand again,
hoping what you write this time
they will understand.
(7 May 2007)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem