Rubbing off what's been dusted.
To pick up again to shine and buff.
With a doing not to get enough.
One feels fortunate and blessed,
To return to a time in their mind...
When decisions made,
Were done with a basic vision.
Cleared to know the difference,
Between needs, wants and...
Frivolous wishes.
With trust as a must to know it.
How and when did confusion,
Become the rule to accept?
Who voted to select this choice,
As the best substitute...
One deserves to get?
And when did deception,
Become an expectation.
And...
What happened to truth?
Who removed it to replace it,
With new and approved realities.
Rubbing off what's been dusted...
Many are discovering,
Themselves to trust is today...
More of a need and a must.
Rubbing off what's been dusted...
Is a truth found to have value.
Substance and a quality.
Discovered never to rust.
Or distrust the purpose,
Of its intent meant...
Not to have its content,
Deluded to be misrepresented.
And rubbing off what's been dusted,
Satisfies to surprise,
With its own reward to treasure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem