I Imagine a paper that is unstained in ink
And I have given a day in forever to think.
My pencil is sharpened, My mind is alight,
And yet I cannot think of something to write.
I think about stories, I think about plots,
But all on my paper are some inky dots.
I draw a nice doodle on the side of my page,
A dog or a horse or a little bird cage.
I write down a word and thoughts scribble it out
and I am not quiet sure what I am thinking about.
I pull out my hair and I bite on my nails
My mind starts to wander and begins to bail.
I pull out a book or an inspirational movie,
And think about so many things it’s a doozy,
And wonder about things that are all quite strange,
And question if may be I just cannot change.
After all that I think and that I do,
And after the span of an hour or two,
I begin to see what I have missed all night,
Just what I think I will be able to write.
So, I set on my paper with pencil in hand,
Sharpener near by a paperclip stand.
My words scrawl across it and up it and down.
I start to amaze and inspire and astound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem