here i am
open, in the open
and opening
yet in some ways
and forms
artistically,
myself.
i write and put
my name
to save myself
from the hazards of
oblivion.
you never acknowledge
me, you faithless
fate.
i write so hard like
a worker in the field
yet i still have no
name for my own.
Time shall tell my name.
within this hidden arrogance
and pride
and yes prejudice.
my poems shall take
revenge.
my name shall stay in
the history of
the bins.
here i am
closing myself again
like a seed,
a bud,
waiting for the right
season
to open again.
my poems shall take charge
what shall i be
in the coming ends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is amazingly beautiful!