My mom once said to me,
that two wrongs don't make a right
That it's always better to walk away from a fight
Fighting fire with fire will only get everyone burnt
And then what lesson has been learnt?
Hurt with hurt and hate with hate
what sort of situation will that create?
Sadness and resentment and a quest for more
But, now, my mom is not here, no more
I have no guiding voice, no wise old words
I am the mirage in the desert….
I have the advice of my friends and brothers
But I have never been good at listening to others
Life is one long learning curve, an ever lasting degree
Two wrongs don't make a right, for now I see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem