A pen and a page,
No words came.
My fingers itch to make up a masterpiece.
But no words came.
I can see my sister.
Her brain is smoothly telling her hand what to do.
On her page is and elaborate story, told not by words, but by lines and shades, graced together in perfection.
But mine is blank.
A pen and a page,
And no words came.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem