After losing my temper and doing wrong
I feel a bit ashamed like every wise man
Thinking that I am so fragile and weak
Like a piece of glass with so low points
That with little provocation from the other side
I boil and my all good senses vaporize
Like the surface of a cup water kept on oven
Man and woman of great composure
Must have high boiling points
Even after being exposed to intensive heat
They never lose faith in their ability
Of being compassionate
And relate with pain and sorrow
Of the feeble and weak
This actually needs a great inner strength
To live with others in the binding force of love and peace
Violence and war never associate with bravery
They are the fear of the cowards which break away
From the bond of humanity and loose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem