sometimes you marvel
at his works, how could i
not be a genius? how could
i be like him?
anxiety creeps in like
an urchin to your heart
and you bleed,
how could you ever be
an enemy
to yourself? how could
you not desire and be
content with what you
hold?
do not marvel, just be
honest,
rise to your limits
and see for yourself
what beauty is there
beneath your feet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem