Hastening footsteps.
An eager hand grips a blank paper.
And time weaves its wand,
So feeble feet are dragged in sand.
Beyond the chameleon's dance to the tick-tock,
Lies a white paper you must paint in your colours
Some people have painted roses; others, flying darts.
Paint, my son, with your soul, paint with your heart!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very nicely written poem, Warrith. Thank you