sometimes i think
we are being pushed in a planned direction
inching forward
then slowly drifting backwards
sometimes i think
that love is just
a four letter word
that cries of dying people
are never heard
sometimes i think
color of the skin means nothing
sometimes i think
nothing means something
twisted around to confuse
watch the deck of cards they use
sometimes i think
how happy we’d be
if we all stopped thinking
sometimes i think
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem