Sad the truths of life
They carry the harshness of realities pinch
I could bury, burn, die as wife....
But; can not of this man complain an inch
All the sins in this world said and done
I see Gentle men every where
Trying their best; even in my son
If this is not true, is this not care?
What is divine in man? Is mere inches to his self pride
Oft in the thickened clouds of the thundering sky
Perhaps each of us is in our own clouds taking a ride
Then; I stop by God to ask; all has a purpose lets not decry!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Stopping by God to ask about something, to resolve some issue of the human world on the wings of poetry is mystical...