Amiga, con su permiso, me he tomado el atrevimiento de adaptar su poema al idioma inglés, es que el traductor lo único que hace es traducir literalmente y pierde la esencia y el sentimiento que se manifiesta en español:
Poetry
I know it well, and even write,
in verses sincere,
expressing eternal love
that I feel for those
who’ve reached my heart.
Poetry,
never received
what must it feel like to read one
that pierces through to my weary soul?
Yet it hasn’t happened,
and with regret, I sense
that longed-for prose
will never grace my eyes.
Could it be that no spark stirred your heart?
While yours has ignited mine,
inspiring sonnets ablaze with intense love,
poems where your name shines radiant,
vibrant in every emotion-filled letter.
Poetry,
sleeping in your fingertips,
never written,
silent on your lips,
never spoken
a love that stifles inspiration,
which, much to my dismay, I cannot coax into bloom.
From my lips and hands
shall emerge the one
I’ve silently awaited for years,
and with drops of sweet nectar,
it has unwittingly become
a quiet duty to enchant myself.
May my hands
small and delicate
embrace my soul,
just as they’ll embrace yours
when, amidst trembling nerves,
I recite that poem
you once claimed had captivated you.
A poem
that this time
is born from admiration
for my very own being,
inspired by the warrior, I am,
forged upon the ground,
through sheer pain.
Muchísimas gracias por su ayuda ☺️