What kind of life is this?
Dawn so promising,
The noon castigating with the blossoming rose,
Gracing the path
An orchard it seem
But within lies coals that burns like a furnace,
Pleasurable it may look
But the pain it incurs remain unbearable,
Before, I saw my sprouting dreams,
My shooting visions
All line in sequence but by dusk
I saw it crumble like a pack of cards
Will my hand be fit to sail anymore?
Will my will carry me on?
Cos defeated I always bow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem