Every blank page needs to be filled
By a poet,
Hours of contemplating
Yet a blank page,
Pen full of ink
Yet a blank page,
So many blank pages left to be written on,
So many days went by
When not lived properly.
A blank page has to be filled
By a poets mind,
Not by any absurd pen,
No scribbling,
At least attempt!
A try which never led to success,
A try to live a day blissfully.
Years went by,
With that scornful pen
And a lonesome attempt
To fill the ink in a life,
And another heavy minute
Passed,
When that blank page became this lonesome
Poet's epitaph.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem