One day all the kisses will fade away;
A thing too weak for mind,
But the pen of a poet can make,
An insignificant kiss immortal.
A man, made of clay,
Comes and go un-noticed;
But poet can make him immortal.
A poet is not a man of clay,
But an institution of ideas,
Give beautiful rhymes,
To the unknown creations of God,
And leaves them with the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem