An interrogation, wanna I make,
To Thy Charioteer, the palanquin world of,
Or, Solemnizer mighty hand
of 'Miracles do happen'
For some, plethora of hope,
To some as infinitesimal as photoframe,
Or sculpture of rock, For some perhaps,
Or the hearts of heart's resider,
Or for some philosophic people, their work,
That, Why thorns sharp these,
On the path of life.
A driver, on an outnumbering car'ed road,
Becomes a good driver,
Tackling, experiencing, defending-
Perfect, makes a man,
But question, mine.
Is why outnumbering cars, are they?
Why life is drenched, tackling hard situation with
No economic problem,
No probs, No sorrows
Why this bog, on the way to ultimate lotus!
Why these thorns leading to mesmerizing rose,
Why can't rose n lotus, embrace us,
On a carpet of a crowd of yellow daffodils,
Child burnt, dreads the fire,
but why fire once for, even,
Why Why WHy
Can't all in favour our's be
True had it been
Null'd sorrows be
Suicides, Depressions, Dissappointment,
Everything would be a single zero,
Wonder I, Whether will I get
The Answer to-
Why this hell, Why not only heaven! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem