My poems become my diary,
Of events from long ago,
Telling of loves and losses,
The things I've had to let go.
These pages have been filled with,
So much happiness and pain.
When I look back on them,
I see I'm not the same.
I no longer cry within myself,
I know others who understand.
Poetry is now my life,
I hold in the palm of my hand.
These pages are sacred to me,
They hold my world of dreams.
Without this notebook and pen,
My world would split at it's seams.
I realize that in a way,
My writing keeps me together.
My poems are like a diary,
I will hold onto forever.
From here you read it all,
My heart and my soul,
A pen in my pocket,
My life on a scroll.
(13 January 1984)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem