The drops on my forehead
Are neither the beads of sweat
In the summertime heat nor
A cursive signature of toil
Under the care of my warder--
No such thing! They simply
Are tears of conscience which
Cries silently within my mind,
And which is a big trouble
Of all those who firstly hearken
To the cause of things and
Only then see all the effects,
And not the other way round.
All those who are at ease and
Have not had such experience,
Do not even think about a rate
Of crying inside their heads,
As they use to do it in broad
Daylight in front of all to see.
This is the principal difference
Between my conscience and me.
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Ron