She said no, virtues are no earthen wear,
Nor vices hard-wearing metallic strong,
Nor virtues wear off, nor easily tear,
Nor vices weather miles of life for long.
And virtues water-like mild, scarce are weak,
Patient and persistent, quiet they lie,
Whilst vices though rigid are mighty meek,
Blocked, water knows how to walk via by.
Cuts the mild me the mild as much as strong,
Your might clashes with me, scarce my mild cuts,
You know water carves rocks and flows along,
I may be mild, but in need lack no guts.
My virtue, dear, gets no sullied by dirt,
I've seen vices getting easily hurt.
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By soft hand can be severed harsh,
By soft hand too the mild like marsh,
Nothing is hard for a soft-hearted man,
For, sharper cuts soft than harsh ever can.
Mahabharata
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Sonnets | 01.04.08 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem