Family of man is like leaves of grass,
The winds fling them to the ground,
But the grass rupture into new shoot,
Raise new leaves with the spring arrive.
So with the family of mortals, worldly;
The one generation grows, other vanishes,
What a dull, evil minded slut we grow;
Vanish into the fire of underworld.
The lovers those crying yesterday,
Are laughing with the gift of new born;
And welcome a ring of seven colors,
Those fasten the fate and name of family.
As God blesses exhausted sailor for breeze,
When their limbs are weak and tired,
Time drains the color from every man,
But family line is divinely decreed.
The man who is crook gets the same,
As the man whose deeds are highest,
The same death welcomes the man,
That does much and one does nothing.
Fools we are and fate's blind folly,
Dance and act for evil and narrow ends,
Chart to figure in the ballads of souls,
Those, yet in waiting and unborn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem. Beautiful expression. great write! Feel free to rate and comment to my poems as well thanks.