I have written your name on so many days,
in so many places, in so many ways.
And whichever way I’ve written it,
with letters loose or tightly knit,
upside down or letters ornate,
written in slant and written straight.
This one act I must confess
brings me joy and sometimes stress.
For the pen which I use
to write your name
has never been the same.
It speaks volumes of what it means to me
to write it so many ways, and then see
that if the ink in my pen never runs dry,
I’ll write your name until I die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem