Once I was caught at that state of being so bizarrerie;
With none to call an ally.
At that state of being melancholy;
Sneered by the mirthful, calling me so silly.
I dont scorn them for those agitations of mine;
Nor disaffirm them being mere bestower, O its just fine.
Condoned their ignorance so humbly lang syne;
Do not reckon their cognizance, my mind no more cervine.
Being forlorn was not a bliss;
But its a catalyst to rediscover oneself I agnise.
Losing, then finding oneself amidst the salamis;
And still striving to live to the fullest, Ha! ! no one can cease.
Now that I have known the secret;
Whatsover have happened, I dont regret.
Learnt to smoke away the sorrow like a cigaret;
Known to hope for the beauty of a new day as that of a floweret.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
still striving to live, this is but natural. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.