Stars sparle as if they are in agreement to the festivities.
The moon conceals itself to let the happy faces shine even if its for an instant.
The stars exhibit beauty and the street lights lead the hopeless souls to a place thought to be better.
Life is unjust in these streets, sorrow and pain have become the soundtrack to our bitter sweet livelyhood.
As hopeless as it all is, hope still glitters in faces with feigned happiness.
As clean as all is, invisible stains of unpresidented grief can never be wiped off.
The sky, the stars, the lights, the faces and this life its all ours, its our perfect imperfect canvas painting
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem