Translation does kill writing inspiration?

Maybe it’s a false statement for some gifted guyies, but it’s a real question in my brain. Worest of  all, my brain machine operates in a reverse direction, sometimes leaving my life in a mess.
 
Translation acts like a gobetween without her/his own passions, holding them in the bottom of  her/his heart, even forgetting all of them existed before long. That’s not good thing for a man buried a dream in vague form and with skyrocketing desire for creation or original pursuit.   
 
Raising my brows and looking into distance,  I’m conscious that there is no hope to release such burden in near future, because of responsibilities and reliabilities for your parents, wife and children, and survival. One day, tomorrow, would liberate me and offer a wide range of space to do what I like to do, to come up with the flow of thoughts at ease.
 
Probability may tell me more about a solution before my body in shadow of Gravestone.  
 
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