Now and then
My poets’ pen
Moves to scribe
A verdant vibe
In songs so sweet
A dripping feat
Or verse so sour
It spoils the hour
Now and then
My poets’ pen
Scrawls a path
Of utter wrath
It sometimes braves
To test the grave
Or breathes the scent
Of malcontent
Now and then
My poets’ pen
Walks confused
Without a muse
Spilling ink
That’s out of sync
Or testing rhyme
That’s past its prime
Now and then
My poets’ pen
Lies like death
Out of breathe
And though I try
The ink is dry
But, I’m just too vain
To refrain…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good, echoing the thoughts of most poets I imagine.