Why sing of hills, rivers, skies and trees
In themselves they remain
Inert objects
Without theme, color and meaning-
Pictures static in time
Until soul invests them
With passion, pain and mystery.
Their beauty is a black curtain
Until love penetrates it like shafts of light
Men and women are toys
Unless divinity shines through their eyes
Like peaceful stars.
Gold heaped on gold
Will turn to coal
Unless bridges are built,
Homes raised
Hunger and thirst appeased
By its golden power.
A book is not a book
Until read
With ever new delight
And a house of bricks
Not really a home
Unless the laughter of youth
Breaks through its walls.
A beautiful poem, very meaningful and thought provoking write.
really enjoyable.great work.with really marvelous ending.and the garden is not a garden unless the children playin around then. best wishes~nb
A rare insight into the human life alone makes you tell the mind.. happiness just drops in irrespective of the breaks and let us hope the universal home and its innumerable inmates are going to be happy once..
lovely just lovely...the words really flow like a stream which make the piece more alluring and beautiful...i loved it thank you for sharing love, payal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wonderful expression. Loved it.