Unwinding the wound,
Looking for one, somewhere,
Beyond the realms of our imaginations,
But yes, the wound is wound,
Within the bandaged bondage,
Of our intolerable tolerance,
It bleeds without a trickle,
It pains without expression,
Those tears evaporate in moments,
Even though it tears you apart,
Magic is the word, ..or is it another lie,
A cheap trick to fool the beholding eye,
As the mirror smiles back,
Laterally inverted, literally!
And then, we wonder which one is real
Ourselves or our image?
Colliding thoughts.. or a little brain damage?
It is simply so complicated! its so ill fated,
That somewhere the wound is wound,
So well..that it can't be found!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem