I needed an eraser.
To erase memories which have left me scathe,
To erase people who made a scapegoat of me,
off my mind
To erase that portion of mind
that is brazen and overtly presumptuous,
To erase a page of god’s archive
An archive of sinners,
a page where I figure notoriously prominently.
God declined my request.
I was given a pencil instead.
“Why was it not eraser that God gave? ”, I wondered.
Perhaps, the creator wanted to see
a man writing pages of his life
Knowing he can’t afford to make incorrigible mistakes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem