I had a passion
burning
day and night alike
But I lost it
the art, the fire
the desire as well
The pen I couldn't hold it again
not that the language became greek
neither did the paper become slipperly
This poems kept me awake
my safe space
How I lost it? can't tell
They call me Fate
always taking me back to former self
I wish not to loose it again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem