The mind is like a blackboard
With nothing written over,
Blank, all blank,
If want to write, write you
On the blackboard,
If not, write you not
And sometimes it is written over,
Sometimes things get dusted off,
Something ti remains as a residue
And something it gets deleted from the mind.
Just like the recharge voucher, the memory card,
The talk time,
Things get processed,
Sometimes the SIM fails
And the connection too gets snapped off.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem