Its the height,
What a hurting plight.
Though born to live,
But just merely survive.
To say its life,
But owner possess no rights.
charged for not just smiles,
To flow fright eyes.
If appeal to the pride,
A quarrel will rise.
The joy! The love! The light!
Are big bad lies.
Resembles a stormy night,
such is the might.
A battle goes inside,
With each hope i died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hope is not dead Pride may be died Hide strong emotions when quarrel with love