life
like a mirror
reflects
unlike colours and shades, some
shine bright and some go fade;
but sometimes
a mislead refraction ripples
its FORM and grace;
as shadows behind the mist.
This spectrum often drives
the constipated minds
to despite (militantly)
LIFE and its NOVELTY
with all wet planes.
Aren't they like an Old Nick
-raised from the Hades-
and threaten
the angelic calm
that survives only
on the margin
of space and time.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Although this poem is too philosophic for me, but I liked it.