In the absence of inspiration,
I forge, perforce, my own dimensions:
Behold- an elsewhere with paths
in every direction.
I wistfully rest at intersection of
avenues, each one leading to
a separate astray;
each path an aisle towards
nothing but realisation:
I stand so far from the solution
any road infinite in length may,
lead me closer to a
more felicitous resolution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem