Life poses such questions
before our souls' bastions
time and again, skies warp
with a report gently sharp
"Life is made of unwritten poems."
Very often we have no answer.
When life itself is a question
where do we find answers?
I express my gratitude, from the bottom of my heart, dear poet. Thank you.
When the skies warp, where does life seek refuge?
Life has its own way taking us forward….. Or is it backwards? ? ?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When life itself is THE question, where do we get the answers?