Now brightly it shines
Like the morning sun
But this heart, yesterday was painted
To conceal it's darkest parts.
Beyond the brightness blinding you,
Pus paints it's inner parts.
Pain more than Love's hatred.
Yet it's the shinning which has made us stuck,
Like a truck in mud
Trying to praise it's painter
Concealing the inner bleedings.
Pus at the back is what is collected
Yet we all stand in praises
Of how shinny is the heart.
Hail to the painter.
Concealing the inner bleedings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem