Made from different finger paints,
With blue and red and white and green,
Strange, odd shapes of unique form
I ask myself: what does it mean?
It’s made of my old finger prints,
Markings on the filtered scene,
Denoting individuality
I ask myself: what does it mean?
It has a passion yet unseen,
Harboured in it through and through,
My painted shapes mean more to me
Than they ever could to you.
End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem