Years pass without a whiff of murmur,
like clouds dissipating in the sky;
If happiness is a whirlpool in the river
Pain too is a fading scar on memory.
Voices jar on the wavelength,
a perpetual melee daunting the ear.
Once the cacophony peters out,
emerges the calm cadence of order.
Life is never a bouquet to the living,
a surprise always on the fringe;
Beyond the rim of stinging chaos
Hope beckons, a distant rose?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A philosophy we all tend to forget. Hope should not be a distant rose. The two lines I like the most is If happiness is a whirlpool in the river /Pain too is a fading scar on memory