The man behind the curtain
Wears a yellow shirt- not green-
And he says the bliss of knowing
Is an ocean, never seen.
The road's not yellow brick;
In fact resembles more a path
That meanders through a world
That is turning, like a lathe.
And consciousness is spinning
Like some magic on a screen,
And each man must learn the secret:
It's the price, of sovereign being.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What is consciousness? That is a question. A thought provoking poem.