the room can be
another prison for one
who remains a bud
tight as a cork to the
bottle
necked, and undecided
to open up into
a complete flower, for
years, this is going on
and on and on
but there is no worry now
one gets attuned to the
sound of loneliness which
has become another nice
music over this radio
this room, has become
one radio, one lasting music
for a self loving self unto
this self, his individual
feudal upon itself, delving
into the wholeness of one's
independence. Try it.
it is good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem