Deep deep within
Is a schism
Is it only a whim
Or a condition?
Higgledy-piggledy
Goes the mind
Can't one bind
It to a baton?
There is a truth
Of the eyes:
But often lies
Cloud the vision.
The face
Looks calm
But a storm
Rages hidden.
An event that happened
To a child:
Could later grow wild
With suppression.
Pent-up, seething,
(the more the delay)
May erupt one day:
Nothing but ruin.
Deep deep within
Is a schism
Is it only a whim
Or a condition?
Higgledy- piggledy
Goes the mind
Can't one bind
It to a baton?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem