I dream of writing a real poem again
A poem that has its own rhythm and music and beauty
A poem like those I perhaps once wrote
But I have no such poem
And I have within me no music or beauty
But only my dry will and determination
To go on writing
Until I die -
Whether it is real or not
Whether it means anything or not
I do not know
But it seems now
It does not mean much to anyone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are on a fu..ckg idiot poem site run by Indians. No one gives a sh...it what you think.