Moments as letters form sentences as they fall upon day's page. A saga and great odyssey forms the forward of a book of life. Yet unwritten it is new and shiny with clean white pages. An ink spill soils one, a misspelled word scratched out on another. A smudge from dirty hands soils the next. A tear. A dog eared page to mark its place where a footnote was made, the fold leaves its bend. Rambling words discarded, the page torn out. Few pages remain. A story off course, far from what was intended in the beginning is ripped in disgust and thrown in the fire. Ashes its only memory as night falls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem