The thirst of newness
makes you move away from the crowd of
grievers. I ask the moon, why does he cry?
What was the ritual, when
you seek redemption from
the bonfires of forgotten love?
In fact, sorrow was
a beautiful heritage of truth processors.
You make a temple, and god breaks it.
'Man proposes God disposes' corroborates with your line, 'You make a temple, and god breaks it'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a brilliant piece..... thank u.....