I am a poet, thousands of words crowd my mind,
Tearing through the heavens, digging into the earth,
I build nests of poetry.
Thousands of feelings from broken hearts seem to rise,
And in my silent mind, I weave so many dreams,
Thus my poetry is born.
With thousands of hopes and pains, I weave
The tale of the forlorn one,
Thus the poetry of the forlorn one is rhythmic.

I, the poet, worship alone in solitude,
At the feet of the goddess Aphrodite,
In the quiet of my heart, I seek only
A place at her feet.
For the sake of thoughts, the restless soul of my mind
I keep secret,
Laughing alone, rejoicing alone,
In a mad monologue.

I am a poet, in the foolishness of humility,
I am always careless,
In the love of riddles, I empty my heart
And bind it to the earth.
I am a poet, I fill my anger with affection,
I dispel resentment,
Therefore I say, my poetry is
A gift from the Creator.