Anonymity has giant leaps
that makes one vanish
and would not be tracked,
like soap bubbles busted.
It's a cushion for a repose,
when one's name becomes
too clutched to a shy neck,
booked for public's fancy.
And what fame embellishes
something must reciprocate;
that each concrete passage
has mirrors below the skirt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
mirrors beneath the skirt does not leave much anonymity...is it worth what fame embellishes....guess some have to ask themselves your question....great poem...Vallerie