My pen stumbled on a hard word,
breaking down tip of its nib.
Scratched; it stretched for ink flow.
Nothing came out except its dry cry.
Torn paper looked at my broken teeth.
My curse fell in loud on blank face.
Parted iridium chocked, gasp for breath.
That swine of a word still bled many.
Both legs hung up in the air in traction.
Back buckled and belted I lie flat on earth.
While mind retreated to a sedative sleep,
my plaster cast was singed and scribbled.
Many wrote poems on my legs in humor.
At last I found my word of sarcasm.
Its just snarls at me from filths of my mind,
here I dropp my pen in exasperation!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Meticulously, eloquently and amazing.10.