I'm an ugly statue around which children play and have no feelings about me.. Nobody pays attention to the pain inside my stony face...
I'm a tree which is left lonely among other trees. The gardeners have forgotten to quench my thirst of water...
I'm a black-and-white painting... Whoever sees me interprets me in a different way.... But I have no interpretation of myself....
I'm a memory of for...gotten days... The dark days of life... An untasted bitterness.... A short glance and a deep idea which never became a sentence...
I was some scrawl words in lines.... Written by a pale pink ink....But later I eas smashed in the hands of a person I didn't know....
I am nothing but a being who wished he wasn't...............
I'm a tree which is left lonely among other trees. The gardeners have forgotten to quench my thirst of water... I like it so much dear Sina :)
Poem to love, this is... but i have some comment on you 1. statue maybe feel that it got someone attention, but the sculptor who made it, love it every inch of his own work..He made this statue with high feeling.. so do we remember the love of our sculptor now? 2. Oh tree, people may abandoned you but with your own roots you can stand tall...even cactus say yes. 3. Black and white painting, of course we can see what was done to us, they may say us good but we dont feel it...why must we feel bad, because we are finished with very own unique lines.. 4. Memory may covered by times, but feeling may reveal what was gone everytime 5. Because in pink ink, you may found self...but if you dig more you will see you have thousand colors in your own blood I am nothing but wish you find you are something..........................unique Liked it much_Soul
What deep questions you do ask. The answer is to be found in the oldest book ever written. Unfortunatelly few people are interested enough to study its profound pages. Read mine - Who Am I - Adeline
what are we doing? that is the question. i really love the subject of this poem and also i love the way that you have written the work. really, why are we here/ what do we want to do? do we have important tasks like saving the humanity, saving the world? or saving the world from the humans who are going to destroy it/? very nice
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good to read yours again my friend. this is my favorite subject as i always ask myself too.i found many verses with the same subject in Khayam's poetry and i love his poetry. but if i say we all are here because of a purpose, it is nonsense.so i keep my mouth shut. only i say if we had the feeling of being useful then we would answer the WHY BEING question.so better not flinch.we all are protruded from a nothing purpose. the end of this poem is so similar to what i imagine that life rises from nothingness.(Nietzsche theory) .so i think i am the king but the king of nothing. i voted to this poem 10+++ unfortunately i couldnt give higher ~nb