We are all built of bubbles,
fracturing at the slightest touch,
seeking escape from our troubles,
wishing for something real to clutch.
We are all made of glass,
shattering with a harsh clatter,
once, seeing only an illusion of class,
now, wishing for ourselves to truly matter.
We are all constructed of snow,
melting under the sun’s harsh glare, alone,
changing paths with a gentle blow,
wishing, wishing, we had a mind of our own.
Yet, we are also made of light,
able to give those who are weak,
strength to see past society’s blights,
and the voice that dares to speak.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem