The rigidness and stubbornness.
It seems like a waste.
At the end of the day, all its tenants
are galloped by the sorrow.
When sorrowing eyes lower down,
they weep the pain of their heart.
And again, in just a few seconds.
The rigidness.
The stubbornness.
It seems like a waste of its futile, growling, meek efforts!
©shivpoetesspriya
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem