What is love?
Is it a feeling of the heart?
Or a thought of the mind?
Is it a small little package that unwraps with time?
Or is it a state of being that one can have sometimes?
Is it a simple thought that has no meaning?
Or is it a living thing with gentle breathing?
Is it a solid rock?
Or a wavering breeze
That blows through the trees?
Or is it a feeling that can change with ease?
Is it a deception that you can see?
Or is it invisible to the human breed?
Is it a truth that you can feel?
Or is it a fallacy that only spiels?
Is it a hope that one can attain?
Or has it been slain?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem