You wouldn’t know the pain of a crow, if you were born a swan
How would you comprehend the meaning in his cawing, when your sophisticated ears only knew the notes of rhymes…
You wouldn’t know the hurt in those small eyes if you never had to go eating the dead carcass to survive and sit unwelcomed on the dirty terraces to unwind
The bright white of a swan is beautiful yet the black of crow will balance it all out,
Life is beautiful, so is the swan but the dirty corners are as important as is the crow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem