As I write this
I am a stateless refugee
If I am not
Someone out there
Is wantonly displaced
In the wars the world
Has refused to name.
Though without a scroll
And without a pen
I have been endowed
With a legion of themes
I write on the back of the world
With the pains of the world
And the pen I make in the world
But with the ink of my blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem