The mountains and seas in nature
inspire the souls so nice.
The sky above rains at times
to cool the heels of this fleeting earth.
The toiling folk, the mirth to have,
seeping music make the warblers.
Counting at the stars above,
tiredness trickles them to drowse.
The kingdoms mighty
weakened by time and their signs too lose.
The newly risen miscreants
will fall on earth in booze.
Disease and deadly accidents
give them sudden ptsunami.
Yet the descendants of the serpent
hiss and terrorise this land.
Democracy will thrive very well
when we are honest.
The hooligans will kill those true
if they don’t connive with them.
The masters of rowdyism
are our leaders of parties.
They will decide in Parliament
what kind of slaves should we be!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem