That picture on the wall,
reminds me of the past.
I know, one day it will fall,
and the memories wont last.
Will people remember me,
when the years go by?
Or will I be a piece of dust, no one will see.
I want people to remember me when I die.
Will I be treasured?
or left behind?
Being remembered would be a pleasure.
Not my life being declined.
I want to appear,
with a note that says I was here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem