the sweet sour pain rebirth the destiny of today
hand-capped with make-up and toiletries, making
face-off to all ages
limbo in any invention, puzzle in any form the
aspiration becomes the corner stone of tomorrows
search and riddle, find always the key and the
door remain to be closed
oh! hold on droplets of rain for the water is wit;
the wave stand still and the river is dry, the
guided cart venture every load to reach the ideal
of every minutes
somewhere in time, the clown will cry and the
circus will be the rostrum of misery, for what is
not cleanse the water purify the dirt
be the ingredients of hope...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem