Do not hang my portrait on a wall,
Making it a refuge for webs and dust,
For frightening dark geckos to slip in,
Withered garlands bedecking the bust;
Where spiders weave silken snares,
To trap pitiable insects unaware,
For humidity to discolor and deface,
With not a-one-dear-one, to really care;
Save when guests are invited,
Some glorious occasion to grace,
Or festivals are around the corner,
Dust shall be brushed off my face;
An unperceived, lonesome sentinel,
Who knows how long, I shall have to be,
Watching many a spectacle, I wouldn't
In my lifetime, ever wish to see;
Let not the new members ask in surprise:
Why is this portrait still on the wall?
I cannot see myself abruptly pulled down,
For me it shall be the bitterest gall;
Frame me in your heart, if you
Really love me and love me true,
No dust, no web, no crawlies,
Fresh as ever, I'll smile within you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem