What's the value of this life,
where innocence cries for justice,
Where piles of lie make a heap,
and truth is covered by ill-practice?
I just wonder, to see the rational minds,
get perplexed, by lie's magical spell.
They don't know, I'm the tortured soul,
I'm losing peace but, he is living well.
Good poem. The world is encircled with lies. But the remnants with integrity remain steadfast for lies will not last for ever
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nay, never it is so. The level of optimism the most tortured among the underdogs has ever shown should change your policy. The real value of living lies in being genuine to ourselves first.If so, how can you say that he is living well? Is it a life indeed?