Moving south on a windy day,
Dangers mouth swirling astray,
My will is strong I will not go down,
Got to brighten my thoughts till I reach my town,
May be I am flying to my death,
But i have no time to take a deep breath,
Many are the hurdles that I need to face,
I will pass them all for I have a dream to chase,
Dodging the storm like a whisker sized grass,
And come unscratched like a silvered glass,
Bruises and cuts may spoil my day,
But I would pocket the glory-my pay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem