Somehow at
Increasingly dimmed dusk
We are still in the morning
Jumping around asking for milk
Whining severely, wanting food.
We often point
To the bottom, top and sides
Even to the skies. Consequently,
Our own mirror covered
By the thick, black cloth.
Could we, even once
Calculate and weigh
With sincere and truthful
All failures occur,
- On our own choices.
Mirroring the self. A thotprovoking reflective poem. And thanx.
Complete your cup with full taste, another great punch lines in bunch_Soul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Our own mirror is covered with thick, black cloth and it blocks our vision, no doubt.