'What is this? '
It is my face, though I had not
realized until
you asked.
Not until forced to look did I
study the contours, the planes and ridges.
Not until you asked did I
judge it
as they judge
the paintings that hang in museums.
Not until you asked did I
try to identify which school of thought
produced my lines and shades and
wonder if I am
romantic, surreal, abstract, impressionist.
Wonder who the artist is and if
when he was done
if he asked
'What is this? '
and smiled
or
if he took out a new canvas
to start
again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem