Weak and frail the writer sits,
dwelling on the verge of fits.
Rotting, her mentality slips.
Into futility, she trips.
Inspiration, she cannot find,
Wandering aimlessly in her mind.
Life is no longer kind,
As to its beauty, she is blind.
From indolence, she longs to be free,
For motivation is the key.
Desperate, she yearns to see,
How her unborn story will come to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem