They Were Different Men

Yes, I can talk on any topic, I can walk in any field of thought, Whether it's wet and fertile sloppy earth with slips and stains, Or it's the dry and barren sky of bitter ethics with obstacles, Above my head are clouds of wisdom with abundance of rains. I have breaths of my own, the inherited writes of my DNA, The big umbrella of my teachers! Remains always opened to me My breaths do not reach the God, interrupted, filtered and perfumed, Caressed on the foreheads, and with love redirected to me. I am not a highly educated man, just an ordinary graduate, But the teachers I got were extra ordinary, honest, and men of principles, My filtered and perfumed breath is a breath of highly educated man, Among educated men I stand proudly being one of the luckiest disciples. The mortal teachers who are now lying below the tons of clay, With the immortal art and style of teaching risen as the clouds, Our rectified breaths shall always remain grateful to them, The gone birds, your feathers, left overs are now our shrouds. Fearlessly I am flying in the high skies with a branch of olive We listen to your song of love, peace and human brotherhood, Thanks for your colors, your music and your wise editing by Remixing tales by our parents, we listened to during childhood.