The circus of life
runs behind a door.
We sway in trapeze,
fall on a safety net,
balance the cycle of events
and drive a car in closed globe.
In real world
the show always runs in a tent,
cash counters feed all toilers,
time gallops with tune and rhythm.
If we look behind a door
circus of life turns into still photograph.
We believe in white privacy
and world honors the sentiment.
24th Sept.2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem