Being a poet
And what is a poet?
-can compare to a bird!
-doesn't like to be caged,
-has wings and has feather
-takes off, soars into air
-expanding the vision
-see the world underneath
-and selects direction.
-Decides on form and shape
-by body, legs and tail…
Poets' hearts are too large
-in them oceans, skies
-galaxies reflected
-in mirrors on corners
-wavy, calm, frozen
-and boiling, if needed.
Miracles are made by
-simple-living-poets.
-Some living with/on drugs
-to cover hunger for
-food, love and, the people.
A poet is a bird
-always is escaping
-prisons and cages
-of the faith, any bar
-named: "social-cultural
-royalty; not moral! "
Poets fight, have fought
-with cruel on throne
-enforcing bullying
-as laws and statutes…
I, too, am a poet,
-a single, old poet
-restrained in a cage!
-I look, seek freedom
-but wings are broken…
TWO: Humble living poets, that's ok but never on drugs, expensive and they will feel old as the soonest and die as the soonest, not old but feels old.
ONE: Poets die but their poems are forever, this is true. So absurd to compare yourself with a bird! You humble the self but I have enjoyed very much your honest poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
THREE: This is a good poem but with a negative ending, I expected the up going curve, to positive aims. Shout out and sing your poemsong loudly! Come on! You can! A10 and myriads more, much more from shore to shore, around the world!
Dear Sylvia, you are great in all the ways and manners and please forgive my shortcoming...