‘Work is its own reward' - so spoke
scions in the eons of time;
Some made a name, others took
anonymity as no scar on their plume.
Fame perhaps a curse on name,
its scars leaving a dull pain,
the world deaf to your cries
heckling at hopes in your domain.
But the scions stuck to their edifice,
a gut feeling with seeds of life;
All sneer and scorn midwife of a
dying order, emitting its last sighs.
Knowing a trapdoor to anguish.
Can it keep the doer on a leash?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yes, fame can sure be a scar, but not a bad one most often. who on earth would hesitate to get accepted, recognized and pampered! all of us, within even. the poet's mind, thought waves has her due flow over the lines, and engages a serious reader to explore deeper, but for a casual reader, would have been much better if inspired with some addition of conventional poetic beauty too. God bless. rgds