to be a poet
(what they think is needed is the
discipline to fully master the craft)
one needs (however)
only the heart
the soul, the rest when summoned
properly
comes without much
hesitation, for in time, when you are
true and faithful
words come like servants
and arrange themselves like furniture
the chairs walk in
to form the dining set
with the center table
the curtains hang themselves
on window borders
to form a frame
a perfect perspective
to view the sea
of art.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem