you have been given everything,
the tea cups have been filled,
drained and emptied,
a thousand times, filled again,
in many life times wasted,
the world is a grave yard,
in unmarked graves of millions,
in a thousand years,
of a thousand millennium,
in billions drifting in a nebulae of stars,
you have given life, born in dreams,
providing death is not your affair,
for you are life itself,
you are the longing unsatisfied,
in fires eternally unquenched,
in the darkness, fire is unseen,
as in the light, blinded,
lost in a rambling of stars,
unseen, unheard, unknown,
without questions and answers,
of tired conversations which lapse,
forgotten, forgiven, in folly,
of unseen laughter,
of cats crying heartbroken,
in a wilderness of naked poses,
of imperfections and blemishes,
given clothes and wholesome meals,
still naked and hunger,
for unborn and dying,
there seems no hope,
in the tricks of the minds,
conceiving what does not exist,
in touches and embraces,
of emotional connections,
in what appears as selfishness,
in red ochre, and crimson,
there is only time to die,
there is no time to live or cry,
there are no explanations,
of storms and gentle breezes,
the rage ranting, the quiet whisper,
the empty heart,
overwhelmed in lacking,
what is seen and unknown,
as empty, full yet unfilled,
forgiveness in living,
that we die, as immortals,
for truth can not be,
commercialized, marketed, spoken and sold,
as all we see are lies,
those lies die with us,
those words rest in graves, and hunger,
for debts to be paid,
in lives to forfeit,
by hearts to be won,
never lost, nor found, but gained.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem