Sadness shelled with ego,
as the sea hiding its weakness in tempest,
fears of defined hollow,
clandestine in valorous conquest.
To victory is superficial,
unfailing; but, to earth atoned.
Showing rejoices and exhilaration, only ephemeral,
in silence, the hurtin' creature mourned.
Denial, the hardened heart endures,
in smiles, though the sly, succumbs,
at times, to hostility embraces
for fear be blanketed with thistles.
But the formidable dragon forgets,
though its foes'd shown the fiercest blaze;
but, its innermost fright kept within
hidden from the conjures of a wise brain.
Yet valor is an inning point to man,
but the strength, never measured in one's brute's.
At times, to conquer, just swift dances of pen
to pierce and define the gloomy heart's gores.
Melancholy, a construed result
of a blue life hidden
Only pent up emotion outpour
is the better step to emancipation...
To failing, would it be an inevitable query,
of oneself hardened by murk, forcibly lurked?
Fallen in lair, the deep pit, a vetoed melancholy,
is one's contemplation of a stoned adversary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem