I scribble what I scribble from the deep of my being
The hand is weak and the brain empty
When the mind refuses to speak
Be it legible or not blame not the hand
Be it inspiring or not blame not the brain
From the accord of the mind the brain transmits
The hand only transcribes the content received
And maybe soon the scribbles will strike a cord
The power of the mind is the inspiration.
Wednesday,16/08/2023,4.20pm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem