life it seems
is not without its irony
for the screaming bards
of Mu Mu Land
.. on lounging chairs
.. on deep-piled rugs
.. just laying round
.. reciting verse
.. my bards were still
.. and known to all
.. in whispered words
.. as mild as mauve
and when they showed me to the door
I could sense within
creativeness
the un-ravelling of their pain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem