Sweat may change the landscape of love,
Hard labor may chase away the black dove,
Thought may think to discover the facts,
Memories may stop to recover for decades.
The precious waste of a woman is the new life,
The unavoidable taste of the bodies that displayed,
The uncontrollable haste of the man that overlooks,
The new generation of human is produced without avail.
The creation of Gods, serve them as the basics,
The creations of Man so delicious and aesthetic,
The net that entangles quarter of population,
Dismantle the family bond without any trail.
We are the remnants of the waste, but priceless;
What we eat, seek, save, inherit and then leave,
Garbage that collected in our body and soul,
What that can't be seen, are our only luggage.
Nice call to consciousness. Thought provoking, well written poem
ramnants of the waste, but priceless- great one, namaskar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a wonderful write....it flows beautifully and carries much saddness within it...great write...Annette