A poem is a terrible glutton, constantly eating its creator.
Spreads in the whole existence of a poet
Like an incurable disease.
Emptying his utmost efforts
With deep care, a poet rears his rhymed baby.
A poem-
Consumes his day
Consumes his night
Spoils his youth.
Swallowing relentlessly, Seizing everything
Overwhelming with joys, it dwells like Cancer
But a poet gives birth to poems frequently
Melting his day-night produces the patricide.
It's a strange association of a father and a son!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem