The Beholder..
Soft trodden dreams of pure silk,
Against emerald background of shiny, young eyes,
But the prettiest eyes have the ugliest stories behind…
They lie like they know not,
They seem like not seeing,
But those delicate, frail dreams,
Keep floating in the background,
And concrete, loathsome realities,
Keep crushing their heads against,
The fragile emerald of the pupil…
Neither die the dreams,
Nor the realities giveaway..
But the beholder keeps dripping,
Drop by drop..
The story behind those pretty, beaming eyes,
Is even uglier than the screams of a beloved..
IQRA.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a very good poem worthy of 10+++
thanks a million :)