Then life was a wonderful happiness,
If its commencement was fulfilled by soceity,
If its finish was not of unhappiness
And the ending was its finish,
The very same as Fate.
One loved the purpose of existing on the World
As we were thrust headlong into peril of work
Yet made a finish.
The perils are to demand a finish,
and leave us with splendour,
To find Height at the Heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem