The great artist is livid with rage,
As it is not his wonderful mirror,
His image is different in it,
Very much inferior to his real status and class,
The artist can not recognise himself,
Frustratingly he covers his face with his adept and famous hand.
He travels everywhere in extreme pain and agony in search of his outstanding mirror,
But nowhere he finds it;
The great artist tries again and again to delineate his fantastic thoughts and ideas with the same prolific hand,
But in the absence of his fabulous mirror they become crass and ridiculous every time.
He sees everything in absolute despondency
And understands with a fragile heart about the essence and importance of a friendly mirror in an artist's life.
"I have lost it
And I have lost myself, "
He concludes in a disheartening and rambling way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful poem. Love your work. Thank You