Crafted words and blistered
thoughts, fill the white sheet
with ink and
emotions.
It’s as easy
as cooking, you
prepare everything with
your hands: wash, peel, and slice those
needed into
scribbling.
Then you heat the
pan with the
fire of age, pour some
oil of experience, then
the process continues.
Sometimes you get burned
with the heat of poignant
angst and mental
lump, but then
you know that
you just need the
salt of
life.
After then, you smell it,
taste it, and savor the
triumph of that
words-full
food.
It’s as easy as
cooking… but first,
learn how
to cook.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great ars poetica indeed. You may like to read my ars poetica named as (Poetic Sense-1) Thanks