You point your fingers, loud and proud,
While hiding flaws beneath a shroud.
You preach with rage, you judge with flair,
But truth is—you're not even there.
You climb atop your righteous steed,
Blind to your own unchecked misdeeds.
Before you preach and start the show,
Make sure you're perfect head to toe.
Perfection? No one wears that crown.
We all have cracks that weigh us down.
So check your mirror, clear your view—
Before you claim what others do.
I won't be swayed by bitter cries,
Or tangled in your web of lies.
I'll walk with grace, I'll speak with care—
And leave you gasping for your air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem