For the world I wear a robe and a mask upon my countenance
I am not what i seem with the laurel upon my head
Within is a covert identity, a fettered and yoked slave
serving the despot within,
Lying prostrate before my revered ego;
A fugitive prisoner under the cloak of an intrepid hero.
I am not, my dear friends, what I wear for the world.
What I wear for the world is but a peel of pretence
covering envenomed seeds at the core of my entity;
Seeds sprouting within, cracking my soul in deep silence;
Even so, I find pleasure in imbibing from the cup of stillness.
I do not want to denude, lest I cage my freedom and expose my naked soul to the world.
My dear friends, I love who I am (I swear)
Under this attire I wear for your world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem