The letters I pen may have art
But yet living and not fiction
Alive with feelings they are
With breath in their nostrils
Blood in their vessels
Hands that touch and hold
Legs that move about
Aptly limning the society
And tugging the conscience of man.
(Saturday,16/12/2023,9.33am)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem