With that which is of a writing object
I wrote with to paint a vivid image
dark colors and sharp edge letters
But I must not be the first to paint words
If I was one without words cut off my hands
With this heart I can love a million
But love not one who cannot love thee back
So now it is said and done with
Through thick and thin one must choose
My last meal I must enjoy and if in it, I be full
This is a truth told while telling a lie
Black tint and so is that of his soul
Bloody hand stains on each page
But still they read on line by line
And I wait for the applauding to finish
This is that which is not easy for some
To paint images in the form of poetry
While the rest surfers in cold groan
And others shower in the tears of others
But I puzzled, must look on
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem