Choice is select to remake lines and images
Leaving the prosaic rest out, consign to flames.
If nobody reads as student of literature
The one who is interested in me at least will.
Or treat each piece as a fragment,
Bit of my own life and thought,
Real, and not borrowed, arising
From within me, hence unique.
If not measuring up as poems, so what?
It is produced by me, result of some labour;
What I felt, thought, went through or saw
Reduced to words as best as I could.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem