We live happily in the world of rhymes,
Observing, feeling, dreaming,
Thinking that out words can make a difference,
Dress the undressed minds,
With sentiments and poetic flurries,
Images that in time,
Will make life more livable,
Us, less worried,
What fools we really are!
The bloody scurried crimes,
That haunt our past and present,
Are still carried out with violent fury,
'Man's inhumanity to man',
Our poems cannot bury.
A poem may not negate our species' predilection toward inhumanity, but it does provide for a momentary respite in the sanctuary of our silent and thirsty minds. Peace
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I agree with Kelly Kurt's fine comment. The poem is up there with the best poems of Sandracita.