I often think the artist
Needs a vast blank canvas
I often feel the poet's songs
Arise out of pure emotion
Loneliness, emptiness
A void to be filled, transgressed.
But, what does it all say?
On a personal, level
Anyway, about ink or oil
Are their horizons, just?
Just as barren as desert soil?
Hell no! Beauty is translucent.
'To a point
But what could be more real? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem