The mind is indeed something sensitive
It sees, It hears too much and with
And with nothing to say stop
I feel my inner emptiness and pain
The inner stranger and do it without claim
My whole life up to now has got a lot
Like boiling water inside a pot
Each thought trying to escape the cell
So many different thoughts that made me fell
I could not tell, No one would understand
I have everything yet missing is some thing
I am surrounded by good people
yet few have understood me
Most are ready to flee
Perhaps it’s what life is about
Perhaps one must find pleasure in pain
Perhaps that’s how one grows
Perhaps that’s what life means
Nosherwan Khan
26/10/08
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem