if you write
an old writer says
(who never got famous somehow
but left an imprint in
you)
'write for someone
definite,
someone whose name
rings to your ears
like a church bell'....
'pretend you are talking to
a god
and you are offering
your thoughts
and heart and
even your soul'.....
do not say you
are here to save the world
that would be too much
of a burden
and you cannot carry
it yourself
say you are saving yourself
and there is no other way excep
t to state this message
to the one greater than you
it is accepted
this is something divine
too solemn to be uttered
to sacred to be
revealed
and thus the metaphors
come in
like masks to your face
the words are said
not for what they mean to be
and so the world grows
flowers on the hills
and the rivers flow in all directions
and thus springs
freedom
and beauty too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem