At conception,
With tension.
A grin mixed with awe,
On the fluid that is raw,
A token measure,
Observe under pressure.
Twinkling little star,
With no debar.
Hearts with joy fills,
Womb a pleasure feels.
Yet a water shed,
That drench the head
treading for the bread.
A gallant outreach,
Blooming for a reach.
Manouvering,
Hovering and plonging.
This wonder you are,
Like a diamond attire,
Pressing for the sky,
A deadly feat rely.
Came he, saw and conquered,
Name written and numbered.
Yet a water shed,
That drenched the head
treading for the bread.
Helter skelter,
The concerned run cater.
Caught with a million minor fear,
Beholding the protuding scare.
The broken gourd,
The stolen pot of a God,
A million farmished,
For the giant that vanished.
The record again blared,
Vanity makes a tread.
Yet a water shed,
That drenched the head
treading for the bread.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem