As organs are built up on carbon
Organs are nothing but carban.
Humours are built up on sorrow.
Humour is nothing but sorrow.
Sorrow is wood, that humour burns.
After a glow, the wood turns ash.
26.03.2006
You made my mind a great day once again with your profound poem.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
another thought provoking write.....