Do I know to play the guitar?
No sir, no sir, I do not,
But I don't think that as a scar
'Cause I play the chords of the thought.
Where my pen is a guitar string
Writing the melodies of it's own,
Composing songs like the season of spring
For my love to be shown.
So, the lady who couldn't see my worth
I bring forth in this poem, my wrath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem