It will be fine,
in the end I guess.
That’s life,
right?
Strange how comfort gets disturbed,
when I get disturbed by comfort.
Even though I may admit it,
I won’t act it.
I’m somewhat like a book,
I won’t work until I’m opened up.
One thing is,
I will not apologise for my art.
(2005)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem