The black hands of death,
cannot hold the white thread of life.
The blowing wind will not pave way to snatch the memories.
The rising waves will never allow to immerse the footprints.
And the mountains will hold high to my spirit.
The clouds will carry these thoughts all across the world
And they will shower it time and again.
And I will emerge by becoming a rainbow sometimes.
Perhaps, those black hands will never catch the silver lines again.
We all carry the lessons of life with us, some are heavy, some are light.
A colourful poem my friend! I will emerge as a rainbow! Moreover, this poem can be viewed in three dimensions...5 stars
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Life is the biggest teacher. We all learn.