Profession
Poetry, part of me
Talks and shouts inside me:
"Let us leave the city…"
I hear; it hurts me,
With drink, silently
Vodka to cup of tea
Lean backward watch TV
Being poor, on PC screen…
Come and go the artists
The anchors, celebrities
I find them, all but shit…
Narrow-mind they are vid
Carry some part of life
‘Professionals! '
"What about rest of world? "
Floats in my heart, mind.
Same goes on in movie
I write and direct them
One knows light
One handles camera
One edits, professional.
Only I
This poor me
Remain with the feeling
Keep asking my actors:
"Be person in living! "
They too are professionals
As are the rest of team
They cut, paste and arrange
They behave heart surgeon
Take the heart and open
But never, no never
See the things inside her
Inside is open to only two
Character and poet…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem