At times you see words but I see stories,
At times you see black lines, but I see more than just stories,
the countless pains that still echo through the years,
So many untold stories, the beginning of every painful tear.
Four couplets, a rhyme, that just the beginning of another song,
Endless sonnet, many lines but beneath are buried the pains many never saw.
A verse, a line, just another poem on a page,
So many pens married to countless papers, the only haven where we face own fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem