even in the middle of
a calamity
a poet should still
be who and what he is
as he must still sound
poetic
amidst the rubble and the
the squabble for space and
place, despite the chaos the
poet must still be poetic
gracious under too much pressure
watchful of his metaphors and
perhaps even still be conscious
of his poise and rhyme, the poet
must at all times still be poetic.
rearrange facts, pick out what is
still hopeful and beautiful.
repaint what is horrendously real.
choose the colors, put the scents.
make this world poetic and still
much and even better be...livable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem