A razing storm is blowing.
You face it like an oak tree
against its cyclonic speed,
but get uprooted in the end.
Or you bend like a willow,
letting the storm pass over,
again regain your posture,
finding foothold on the soil.
Upheavals come, rattle life.
How to face them? Is it like
a stubborn oak, a lithe willow
or a balanced fusion of both?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Inspirational