The hand moves in a rhythm
Trying to express a feeling
On the paper, via the pen
Like the blood and the vein
Constructed to alight
Shedding it to light
The ink inspires
The truth conspired
From brains and actions admired
Advisories to great nations
Providing ceaseless solutions
Evaluating the greatness of geniuses
Correspondingly misused
Then the right suffers wrong
From the tip of the pens tongue
Great histories it has museum
Fairy knowledge, it phantom
So irrelevant to inventories
But subsidizes the load of our memories
But now my pen must drop
The ink comes to a stop
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem