Today I set aside my rhyme,
I trade in my sabre for a club,
To iterate the wrods in my heart;
I feel dissonant today.
And what a heart it is;
Pining, mournful, pondering
Ridiculous thoughts.
Broken emotions and abandoned dreams
Multiply into unbearable regret.
'Oh past days that never were,
Thou would'st brought me a brighter future.'
I sit underneath the mighty oak today.
Tall, majestic, righteous... solitary, old;
Its mighty roots allow no other trees to grow.
'Tis well-rooted, yet alone.
Today, I am still a dissident
(Though my belief is wavering)
I continue to paddle against the current
And go against the grain of society.
I continue to fight to do right, but I must ask:
'Is it good to be well-rooted if I will forever be alone? '
(26 December 1994)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The struggle of every true artist (whether they create with word, sound, movement or form) : is it better to be myself and be shunned by society? or to be like society and shun myself? A thoughtful, sad, but beautiful poem, Martin