It starts with heart and vision,
Crisp voice of concision.
Such plain and precise demands:
Black hair. Strong hands.
It starts to talk confusion,
Stalking doubt’s cousin delusion
Preempting this constant preying.
“I can do better” you’re saying.
Are you who you are?
More becoming perhaps.
Constellation or bright star?
Freedom fears traps.
Who’s so free who’ll
Be no one’s fool
But young and yours?
Among scores?
Ever questions to pose.
And everywhere’s doors.
Allowance is for those
Who do their chores.
[2-25-2004 Santa Rosa, CA]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem