The Pirates

A Akhtar Jawad
0 Altın Yaprak
I am standing in the arts gallery, it's an exhibition of paintings, of an artist having no name, yet is called by so many names. Nobody knows when he was born and where he was born? He painted on the banks of Ganges, and on the banks of Nile, with a veil on his face he was seen painting sometimes on the Mount Everest and some times on the Mount of Sinai, wherever he was seen he was seen restless, as if he was not satisfied with his art, last time he was seen on the Hills of Faran, since then he disappeared and nobody knows where has he gone? Leaving behind many lovely paintings, now became a trading for many of us, many pirated copies are made every day, his original works are now an enigma, everyone claims the one he has is the real and original painting, where has he gone? Shall he come back? Everyone has a theory not yet proven! I bought a painting and brought it home, I don't know if original is it? Or a pirated copy! But I love the crossed and unhappy artist, and I want my drawing room to be decorated, so I shall keep this painting, I have no alternate!

Bu şiire çeviri ekle ·

Bu şiiri puanla

Henüz puan verilmemiş

Yıldıza dokunarak 1–10 arası puan ver

Yorumlar

Yorum yapmak için giriş yapmalısın.

Giriş yap

Bu şiire henüz yorum yapılmamış. İlk sen ol.

Sana daha iyi bir okuma deneyimi sunabilmek için sitemizde çerez kullanıyoruz. Kişisel verilerin KVKK ve GDPR kapsamında işlenir; hangi çerezlere izin verdiğini dilediğin zaman değiştirebilirsin.