It was hot summer day when my eyes first saw,
The facades of men and the emptiness within them,
Their forbidding exterior put on for the world to see,
To hide the frightened infant, crying within.
Whilst I did ponder,
The rain came saunter,
A silver screen descended;
Of it's beauty I was certain,
Though all I noticed was another curtain,
To hide the grief from the eyes of judgement.
In the broken road there was a story to be told,
The mirror may lie but not the puddles;
In the glistening surface we see what we show,
But underneath, the grime is too dark to hide,
In the puddles we do shine, in all our gruesome radiance.
When the torrent has blown away,
And puddles have dried up,
We are out in the sun with a defiant smile,
As a cheap circus show,
Pleasing to see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem