It’s Not My Teacup
In darker mornings more than a winter night,
In the war of ideas than an army’s fight;
I wish a lantern of hope would glow up
As I know stars are not my teacup.
My injured heart pierced with thorns,
My life craving for fragrant morns;
I wish a petal of bliss would bloom up
As I know spring is not my teacup.
Into the boiling ocean of tears,
In the jungle of hazardous fears;
I wish a dew of spur would grow up
As I know chivalry is not my teacup.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem