I wrote a poem yesterday
It was a masterpiece, a sure thing
On the radio I would tell it
The host would praise its prose,
It's use of the rolling and frolicking tongue
The paper lost, betrayed by my own house
Written in a flash of brilliance, but now my mind betrays me
I tried to write it down, to scratch the crust of memory
To reveal what I had lost, its essence tangible
But all in vain, its essence there, its brilliance lost
A forgery of my own masterpiece,
Something of the magic lost to myself
But what a thing is was
Mind over body; body over mind
Such was the theme… apt.
I now know the score
But I cannot rewitness the game
Yesterday the mind triumphed;
Only to suffer bitter defeat at the hands of the body
Mind over body, body over mind.
Such is how ideas are lost to time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I now know the score, the poem is nice ever, Keep on writing nice poems