At this moment,
and being in this small hut,
I stay alone; holding
a torn-out paper;
an inkless, broken pen,
You alone can figure out,
my outlook ; my aspirations;
The truth I hunt for,
you always state
the set of laws that bind on me,
I do bend and kneel down;
My wrecked heart is yours to restore;
my tribute, only you to guard.
On you, alone, I can depend;
my sweetheart is not you at all;
but  my colorless paper;
my meaningless verse;
my broken pen.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI