One's creativity felt with depthness,
Is not from birth born...
To generate repeated dishonesty.
As if from an assembly line produced...
And marketed to exploit.
With a false annointment.
It seems those who seek notoriety,
Are not connected to originality at all.
They've become afflicted with plagiaristic deeds.
Feeding a hollowness with a hope to succeed,
In a duplicitous existence.
As if a fixation with this makes the difference.
To make claims one is attached,
With that which is understood...
From origins inside of them to match,
Belies what is exposed.
These folks only know what to them has been shown.
And then with a defacing...
They wish to get acknowledgement for 'their' greatness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem