some of us come to poetry for amusement
some for fun and some for pride
and some for play and some because one must belong to a group;
and some for mischief and some for sex, for fantasy
and some for a little bit of money
and importance and attention;
and yet some have come to poetry for consolation
like going to religion for comfort and grand truth
and affirmation
and then we take on an ideology and all its ugliness;
but can one come to poetry
for its sheer beauty?
as naturally as one may turn a bend
on a path
and come with no expectation
on an expanse of joyous plants and flowers;
just as if one’s religion is nothing but beauty
and so religion ends and beauty is;
and so coming, poetry ceases and beauty is:
is that possible?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poetry puts beauty into words