The mind is a teacup.
Made of bone china, it can be chipped, broken if dropped.
It comes in many fine patterns and designs,
Which is filled up again and again, if you pour too much in it,
Tea spill over the brim.
Be careful what you put in it,
The wrong leaves may do more than dye water.
They may stain the teacup.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Of all the poems you've submitted I by far like this one best. It's different than the others and it seems you had a bit of fun writing it. Thank you.