The curtain of finger tip size,
Drawn in the eyes,
Makes the whole world shy,
Whose work is this,
To paint the galactose paste,
Just on the malleable lens,
The opaque lace on the transparent,
Truth has to be sucked out,
The physical cataracts,
Disables thousands,
The mental cataracts,
Hard to be cleared,
As it is heavily guarded,
With the armor of words,
Knives of actions,
Guns of illusions,
The cataract in the mind,
Sometimes removed,
Mostly we are happy,
To live with it,
as it hides all our faults,
let us face the world with,
false pride.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The physical cataracts, Disables thousands, The mental cataracts, Hard to be cleared Message beautifully delivered. Thank you.