(We often carry the whims and fancies that other than us, the rest of the world is richer and happier and the sufferings are not meant for them.In other words, we often cling on to the idea that other than us, the rest of the world is born with a silver or golden spoon but, how far is it true?This poem is an attempt to discover the realities behind such ideas)
Rome was not built in a day.
Every edifice carries the hardest blows of umpteen hands,
Every feather, the tale of seasons and those blowing winds.
Stones, now glistening pearls and golden
Carry for eons in their hearth the torture of the lashing waves.
It is the concourse of tears, silence and endurance,
The hammers working, the din of the world grinding.
A twinkling star a diamond our fairy tales may coin,
A sauntering guy on the boulevard, happy and gay we may conclude.
Is the moon born with a golden spoon?
Discover her golden fleece and there you will find enough sunburn.
Ravi Panamanna 03rd September 2020.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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