HE DID NOT BECOME AN IMMORTAL
He did not become great
He did not understand the universe to the end
He did not even make a small work
A few deeply needed
He did not succeed
He lived a life
For a dream he did not realize
And now in his old age
Poor and quiet
He wonders
What his failure will mean
For his own children
And whether he will go to the end
A burden
And nothing else.
He is an old man
Writing another poem
An old man who has written
So many unread poems
What can he do but write another?
How much will he suffer
Before he gets out of it all?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is a wonder that he wrote at all except for the truth of words. He seeks and believes in the same truth as all poets - recognised or not. Rgds, Ivan