Don't be jealous what others have written
In their own frame and time of season
They are there in the place they've awoken
To write down words gleaned from their reason
Lived out each day, their truth gets spoken.
You are not them; you are not there
We're all just panes in a stained glass way:
The things they've seen you might not bear
Could they endure the bed you lay?
No one but you sings your soul's song,
Walks the same path your foot falls on-
Don't silence the poet inside of you
Trying to fill some other's space
Cause then nobody will hear your songs
And the world would miss your grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem