Life is like vapour,
Smoky and unclear,
Trying to see through it,
Is futile quite.
Fog may clear off soon enough,
But life's pangs are tough,
Acting like indelible ink,
Until the ultimate sink.
They say that life is a gift after all,
For some it does seem a curse before the fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem