I write down things I think
When I can’t think, I cannot write a thing
Empty is the paper that waits for my pen
The words too hard find, in my head hiding
They used to reside in my heart
Feed unto my brain
But the heart now devoid of feelings
The refusal itself tears me apart
I need to be in love
Or someone to break my heart
Then words would sprout from every corner
All I do is grab them by the hand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem