It Was In My Sixteenth Year
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It was in my sixteenth year,
That the poetry first flashed my way.
I saw the sky of dreams unlock,
And pour out its secrets.
The world appeared afresh:
A plethora of pulsating spaces.
My soul was gripped by a kind of fever.
I've never quite managed to shake it off.
Poetry has been my placenta.
It has nourished me all of these years.
Although memory has stained time with mist,
I can still recall my first vague sketches;
When I was still a seed dwelling in shadow;
When I was still beautifully unlearned.
The subtle electricity flowed through me.
It engendered the blazing fruits of my labor.
Bu şiiri puanla
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