My religion
is humanism
and my heart
is close to its region

The past
will not be silent:
it has wounds
that still last

The smile of an old man
can't be the same
as that of a young person-
but the latter would not understand

Not for me
the laurel
I don't qualify
at all-
simple poetry
I write only
as my muses call

masters
of the past
each at
their sublimest
that I recall

they are
the light
I'm just
the shadow
far, far away
from their poetic hall

yet, driven
by steps
large or small

up the writing wall
I must climb
my heart's desire
to fulfil
ere
my life's nightfall

Not now
but the future
shall reveal
my hidden story:
I'm just
the beginner
I'm not yet
myself-
still in formation-
that's the reality

half a voice only
at this moment
so tiny and faint
as from the wilderness
lost in the wind
an unknown identity

yet I care not
if none
would read
my story

after all
it's not meant
for posterity

I was
I am
and I know
what I should be.

I've chosen myself
not because I've talent
only that my life
can't depend
on anyone else
lest I were
to end
in my self-constructed
lifelong prison

to live
demands freedom
without which
I'd but be
an inane
and doomed person

Grant me resilience
not intelligence
the latter is not
life's quintessence -

the former
is my unfailing strength
and never has cause
for any absence