The words which I write on paper,
Are the ones directly from my heart,
I just strip off my mind's rapper,
To let go my art.
This is not my talent,
But the exhibition of my ideas,
They are not that salient,
And it's not that they are hideous.
If you read them once,
You'll relate them to your life,
They'll attack you sharp as a lance,
And make you feel better by sewing away the same slice.
These are my words,
These are my phrases,
I don't write them for the world,
I don't write them for any praises.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really appreciate this self-appraisal of your poetry and the poetic virtuosity. Thanks, Jasmine.