How can i satiate my empty brain,
(like a starved stomach, hollow and acidic)
easy to compass the 'LETTERS:
Creation,
Inspiration, and
Imitation. but
where dose Art go?
See, my frozen pen in my numbed fingers;
like an Arctic wind, sweeps,
and leaves behind, scratches
on the wrinkled pages.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem