I could read you carelessly
Like the cover of a book
No subtle essentials
Not a story written within you
Like a puppet turning around
The streets of my soulcity
Everchanging, everlasting
Evermistaken and disgraced
I could smell this dried autumn prophecy
Real artists gave way to their spiritual greed
Out of reach, out of inspiration
Like the leaves of this fall
Falling ceasantly
Without direction
And the stage is still there for the disturbed spirits
For the abandoned dreams
For further flames of hope
For individuals of varying fates
After everything falls into own place
What would Sheakespeare say
If he just knew
Our wills are deprived
Our personality each minute challenged
And scope of existentiality severely
Intimidated!
What would God say to humans
unable to incentivize truthful feelings
real thoughts of shivering moments
neglecting the main beauties of life
And I feel ageless as usual
Misunderstood and just so...
Disturbed of regardless attention
Of a Human Shade
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well articuated and nicely penned with clarity of thought....