Knowing neither where to go
Nor even how to get there,
I follow the sign and spore
Of a few scattered footsteps,
Amidst a seeming historic stampede
Of glorious beasts amongst their meat,
Only to paint pale pastiches
Lacking in chiaroscuro
Or any real bite,
With my somewhat limited palette,
As a self-taught poet would,
Stumbling over his own feet,
Tracing monsters.
(CBB Sept 2011)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem