A blank sheet
Stares at me.
A blank mind
Is all it sees.
Pen resting
In my hand,
Ready to move
On demand.
Just waiting for
My thoughts to flow.
Will it happen?
I don't know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mark of a genius is the ability to create out of nothing...and i find much and evrything here created out of nothing