I am one
Even though not worthy
Like Pushkin, like Khayyam, and Rumi
Shakespeare, and so on
I am one.
I am and I claim
Not for junks I wrote, write
For the pains
For fake life with no gains.
Poverty
Homelessness
Living far
And divorce
Be honest
Am I not a poet?
Is it not what we share?
Are we not crazy?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem