The Fruits. Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
The Fruits.
World seems to be illusion
Or imagining as mere illusions
By the great philosophers gone by
The others made their own corrections
The ordinary humans were working hard
To eke out a living without knowing
What thoughts they inspired to believe
Or what to act and where to proceed
They have limited space the workplace
Where their sweat makes the results
The hard work to make all to well fed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/4/2024 10:23:21 AM # 1.0.0.1119
