I am an author of this awkward book
And my life is written inside it
I write in pen, with a thick ink
But as I write through, I make mistakes
I tried an eraser, but it wasn’t enough
A white ink but I still couldn’t cover it up
I thought of a different thing and even tried
But ended up realizing that they were all permanent
I still write in pen, and I’ll always will
Even if a million mistakes I’ll commit
And this book, this awkward book of mine
Will be my master piece that I’ll never, ever change.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And If thoust shall write thine own fate, what shall it be? no idea. Good poem, with the imagery. Though I think it is ' I thought of a different thing'? I wonder what colour ink we write in. hmmm. purple. or red, maybe?