IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
In the middle of the night
A poem has to write itself
And these lines
Forced from where they come
Do not know
If they reach the mark or not.
I write poetry, yes,
But am I a true poet?
Am I a true ‘anything’
Or just always
Someone who tries and tries and tries,
And does not know
When to stop?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem