Privately taking a chance,
being creative takes risk
no illusions of being exposed,
no respect, some babies were
made to be seen, normally
they cry out to be heard.
Not me, I'm a spy with kindred
spirits going to the grave, forgotten
misunderstood, alone with my spirits,
just pictures at an exhibition.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem