The words.
They fell out on paper.
They were in my head.
Not sure what they said.
I stare...
at them in ink.
Then think.
Indigo seeping
into paper fibers.
It was me...
who wrote them down.
But were they mine?
Did I bollix them up?
Did they land standing up?
In the proper order?
And now.
This is how.
It ends up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem