no matter how i read other
poet's poems,
or how long have i
spent time browsing
each drams,
i always end up
with myself, asking the question,
what i am up to?
what is it really?
what business does i have
over their
hang-ups on art
and poesy?
or a declaration that
i have my own style
my own sighs,
my own path
of melancholy...
i would be unfair
to myself
if i do not mention
too
my outbursts of
bliss
sometimes....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem