There were thoughts everywhere,
Scrawled on paper napkins
On the backs of old papers
In the corners of books.
Those thoughts were mine once
And still are, though I recant.
How shall I purge myself?
What is written remains so,
And though I burn them all
Into ashes that fly on the wind,
They are still written, and once written
Is to be written forever.
The thoughts, once written, now burned,
Are still thoughts that were inked,
And once inked on paper
Forever inked in memory.
I cannot change; I cannot change.
I recant the thoughts I once had,
But once they are writ, they are stone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem