Poets & artists painstakingly chart
The heart's vast, inner landscapes. Yet their work
Often remains unnoticed among the
Listless, modern throng. That's a tragedy.
While all the fashionmongers celebrate
The nebulous & the superficial,
Somewhere there is a poet or an artist
Exiled from the world; working in solitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem