One more poem
fine,
another recent one,
one more time.
Another white blank page
another passed sleepless night.
One more time I wrote down
what made me cry.
My fingers were stained with ink, like many dozen times
but I removed it
and made myself forget about
what I was thinkin' 'bout last night.
Now I'm sitting here,
writing this poem,
trying to remind myself
of the things I removed with the ink.
©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem