Whatever those puncture me were,
The thorns and the pins, scattered on the way,
I wouldn’t have regretted and worried in dismay,
But those are the words that are as sharp as the blade,
The wound and the scars can’t be seen by you,
The feelings are felt and weeping from the souls,
You are stagnant, waiting for another weak,
Lessons are learned, though it is terribly hard,
Many useful experiences are sought through weapons,
Of words, so I thank you sincerely for your good effort.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Words are sharper than the blade. They hurt like weapons. Feelings nicely expressed. Thank you.