Like a childless mother after a miscarriage.
I cry for the verses that i have buried.
Like most of those wise poems
They vanish into thin air
Never to return again.
For the lost verses which could have uttered wisdom
At an odd hour, odd minute, odd second, odd moment
They came to me seeking to be scribbled on paper.
Preoccupied was i,
Busy with other things forgetting mine duty.
For those unborn stanzas i cry
Stanzas full of vibe and rhythm
How could i forget to be your lover?
And forget to pen you down?
Call me bitter-sweet lover dear poem,
Because i haven't been good to you.
To my unborn verses i swear on my very tools: pen and paper
I will deliver you till i can bear no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem