I sit, and start to study
The art of the body
But what I found is
Unmotivated
Unplanned and
Undreamt.
And so I stand, and start to ponder
Why I always stand and wonder,
For this,
my own anatomy.
I fight, with the sword of pleading
To not learn the wrongness of those before me
Of those who hold my faith,
In a microscope.
A scalpel.
And theories.
Not worth in believing.
For their mistake
Was searching while awake
And never in time of dreaming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Incredible... really makes you think. Have you published anything?