Procrastinating again, waiting for the mood to hit and
salvage my being from wasting away.
Liberty and freedom knocking at my mind, wanting to
explore and create new memories and inventions to put
in places of journals.
Waiting for their presence so it may soar with poetical
works of joy.
Italianly perceptive in every corner, acknowledging the process of imagination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem