My paper is blank, and so am I
And to be quite frank, I think I know why,
My ideas stank so much I would cry
And I'm making no progress this way;
I need to befriend my imagination
And cancel my brain's extended vacation,
Maybe then I could halt this detested stagnation
And begin to have something to say.
(Written Dec 2013)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem