When is the end to my writings?
When I am old enough,
Even remembering my name
Becomes tough.
When the light in my eyes die
Or blood in my veins, run dry.
When is the end to my writings?
In the name of poetry
Millions of words I have used
Manipulated them to my muse
Have I really done some justice?
Or offended the gods of literacy?
If I went wrong then I fear
Ghosts out of paper would appear
And consume me …
An END then that would be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wiritnig never dies dear.............it is immortal..............