I rushed to say hello
I thought it was my chance
But I realized I was dreaming
Of what is not meant for me.
My greetings was dried
Like a flower given to someone
And was not accepted
Rather it was left, thrown and dried.
And the wind is waited to blow it
Until it is lost in the deaf field.
It's all I say
Like a beholder,
Nothing more I can do than just watch
Truly, the value of a craft is in the artist's mind
Never in the beholder's.
If the artist burns his pieces
the Beholder can do nothing but to watch
No matter how a beholder would show his care
His, will only have the effect when given a right by the artist....
[Naga,15 July 2011madero]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem