THERE IS SOMETHING TO SHARE
A poor artist gave his breath to a canvas to live forever. A poor musican played the violin in his street's center. Past and present are always together. Art and love meet to say a prayer. Something is spoilt or swallowed by some cancer. That's why a poor artist is a lonely stranger. What's my ink doing in this nightmare? Something is spoilt or gone with the air. Something in the world wasn't better. Present chases past to remember. Art and love will greet their future in the same shelter. A poor lover is an orphan with some pain to bear. A poor artist is a lover of this Mother Nature. Oh my ink, there is something to share.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem