to the deprived
Was it the love that never was?
Made in disguise so well the cause
Wept well its soul in beseeching
Unto what was never ever reaching
Hands stretched in agony a pity
Towards the unknown real entity
As consoles the condemned self
Cold and weary within itself
As sealed the night in wallowing thought
The self so burned with love so taut
The ending so a fairy tale
Some blessings above so sail
Some weary thoughts they dip and drive
'Tis strange they pain as if deprived
But when it's dawn and somewhat bright
They're sure to visit again upright
Wept well its soul in beseeching
Unto what was never ever reaching
Made in disguise so well the cause
Was it the love that never was?
When reality grounds its beam and smiles
Those dangered thoughts take on a mile
With wrapped glory the love seems right
Then come rejoice as things are bright
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well, that's deep...injury? injured who i wonder! can you hear these words o, you concerned? very poignant...reveals the sensitivity and tenderness of the heart beyond measure...well composed...10