I sit down to write you a letter,
to put my thoughts into words,
to string my emotions together,
all those that are bottled in deep
Fresh roll of papers awaiting print,
shiny pen ready to spill out alphabets
or hard furniture ready to the story,
do not summon a paramount courage
Looking through the broken window,
even the sun looks to have lost interest,
and moves slowly to other side, thinking
the words will never get woven together
Another paper, another day will roll by,
while I strive to pour the warmth and shine,
hoping for the boldness to acknowledge outside,
what I almost you tell everyday, every moment
Is it the fear of admitting the vulnerability,
the hidden danger of not getting the same,
or is it just something that cannot be said,
but ought have to be lived to be perceived
While I still rummage my heart and soul,
hoping to arrange the brimming thoughts,
wishing to convey all that is living inside,
I only manage to pen down "my dearest"
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so the confusion with the love and its design. well written. try reading my love poems as well.