Is it anger or is it disgust?
Is it of love or a pose of lust?
I astonish why you never turn?
Am I wrong or my complaint is just?
Though it is match yet is not a play.
Life is serious not haphazard way.
Thouh it seems yet, it is not a fact.
You are made of neither ash nor clay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem