It is the time
With no rhyme
I start again to crawl
Struggling to capture that I lost.
If I would and must write
Which I left and started now
It would left or theft
Here, I come and go again.
Love could care at the rarest
To the knowledge of learned
I being folly at the lost
Here I sit and start the start.
I don't remember to acknowledge the past
But need it for my Present
The Present which would lead my future
My only future of writings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem