I, the private poet, my audience small but my honor great, I do not seek popularity, fame. Recognition of my craft would be great, but even that will not satisfy my unsatisfied desire.
Life and death dance in my rhymes. I articulate this play I have with both. Which is superior: life or death? In which do I live? Darkness swallows the light of my days and greets me as a lamp- revealing both are fused together.
When I part ways with this world into death's grave, will my little lamp surpass the sun? Will my poetic words have their meaning unraveled? Will the world then embrace this private poet?
Life and death dance in my rhymes. I articulate this play I have with both. Which is superior: life or death? In which do I live? Darkness swallows the light of my days and greets me as a lamp- revealing both are fused together.
When I part ways with this world into death's grave, will my little lamp surpass the sun? Will my poetic words have their meaning unraveled? Will the world then embrace this private poet?
