Sorting people is like sorting rocks.
Some are precious, others like stones
some people are like trees...
Beautiful textures, scarce fruit.
someone's promises, like clouds.
Strong thunders but scarce rain
blind can see with their hearts
And Well-sighted, blinded hearts
Some are prisoners but with a free heart
Some freemen were prisoned in boredom and sorrow.
How many meteors are in the high sky...
But in a blink of an eye, ceased to exist
Not every lighted rounded shape,
At night darkness, is the moon
The best words are a few letters...
But brings great effect, Many crops
A drop of water repeatedly beats...
On the rock until the rock is carved
if the wind did not shake the flower...
won’t smell its perfume and will die.
Translated by me from an original Arabic poem.
I hope you'll like and enjoy.