sometimes
we are given so much life
all the beautiful flowers
blooming wildly along our usual paths
to the mountains and seas
we are given so much of air
this invisible abundance
we breathe and take every packet
of freshness in our lungs
and we, out of this familiarity,
and routine,
take all these for granted
even as rights
rather than privileges
even if you we do not ask
all these are given
handed like fruits ripe on a
golden platter
and we have all become
ingrates
and so the Giver has become so sad
regretting that He has created us
finally contemplating upon
a destruction
like the way a disappointed writer
deletes his composition
more of myself too
erasing what i have so carefully thought of
and written on the sand
there was once a time
i did not leave it for the waves
i did it myself
stamping all those castles, destroying each letter
leaving everything in a mess
that it really deserves
after all, i am but a man
angry about ungratefulness....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem