DON'T LOOK FOR FLEAS ON ME
Poet's life is not at all easy.
Nobody seems to need his poetry.
For some people he is cheesy -
An ape fallen from a tree.
I decided not to be a poet.
«Attaboy, better save your nerves! »
Said my wife when I told her that.
I gave her the respect she deserves.
I realized: all women are bitches,
Sitting like worms in their niches.
I do not want anyone's pity,
I must do something on this earth.
It has to be something pretty
And something that really has worth.
The winter turned me into a wreck.
I must find a path or lose,
Or put the rope around my neck.
But it's hard to sing with a noose.
It's the winter's fatigue to blame.
Nightingales start sing in spring.
I haven't that talent, nor a name.
But roosters also can well sing.
Nightingale as the singer is best.
I'm the loser, let it be.
I don't want to sit in my nest.
Do not look for fleas on me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem