dedicated to every man who has never found himself until he has lost his all
Circling like squirrel
chasing his own tail
Flapping like goldfish
thrown in the empty bowl
Restless as the wind
no point to call him firm
That figure out the man
with pointless aim
affected by the forces of criticism
slaved by his own imaginary fears
engulf with unnecessary worries
packed by blames and alibis
and ready excuses
his vision lies on the horizon of doubts
on his veins run the blood of timidity
he is riding on the crest of struggling waves
in the ocean of uncertainties
till he lost his last breath.......................
not yet finding himself
@ copyright 2010 manila, phils
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem