It is said to be my life,
Free to color and enjoy,
As I cherish.
Is it true?
It is all fictitious, meaningless,
As all are flawed.
Miles away from truth.
It is only an illusion.
And beyond the grip of time and place.
Good to delight a beguiling child,
With a kite,
But do not know to fly.
Life is like a balloon,
Hallow and empty,
Ready to burst and deceive.
And we are only a puppet
In the hands of cruel fate,
Who enjoys this joke?
From:
DR. Yogesh SHARMA
The last stanza speaks all truth....great thought portrayed...10
I like this poem is realy nice and express feeling that some people might feel....good job
being a youngster, this poem is really close to my heart....everybody keep on telling us that we r free....but are we? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't think we are puppets in the hands of cruel fate. We design out our fates, don't we? Our deeds turn out to be our fates. If we do good, our fates will turn out to be good and if we do bad, it will turn out to be the other way, full of misery.