someone will make the rules
many will obey
and so
they have become all the same
similar in all aspects
the world has become one
uniformity in
boredom
someone tells me how to do it
dictating the taste of the structure
the colors to place
the tone
and even the scent of the piece
but i am not into it
i am listening to the voice of my heart
it is restless
it is traveling like a vagabond
with no place to call home
thus, i do it the way i want it
and someday
i will be that someone who will tell
this world how to do it
but i will not do it
the world will return to another place
for bored people
and since then
creativity dies
all of them shall bury it
without their knowing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem