I lived in the middle of books
Still I became lazy
I lived on the banks of the rice field
Still I became hungry
There were textile mills in my state
Still I became naked
There were beauty parlours in my town
Still I became ugly
There were wells in all houses around me
Still I became thirsty
There were police in my country
Still I was pained
Because there was paper in this world
I did not commit suicide.
By Ismail Meladi
No comments:
Post a Comment