the people around you make you doubt
your goodness,
they are well dressed, ride in their expensive cars,
defend their own causes,
at other people's expense,
it is always a case of self and vested interest
there is no such thing as benevolence or
that genuine concern for the welfare of others,
when you look at them again with their
twisted values which are so unlike their well shaped faces
their smooth skin and polished bearings
matching well with their maintained luxuries
you feel that you are this giant among the elves
at the first impression of the moment
these ants bite you and you feel so uncomfortable
you give back their world
of deception and oppression
and you retreat in your own private room
where your mirror lies,
and you look at your face carefully,
map out the terrains of your skin with
your long fingers
you are a stranger in the world outside you
you soon shall forget your name, your real work,
your vision and your claimed mission
you shall miss your roots
you shall not find again your origin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem