Hanging a cotton bag in shoulders
And carrying papers in full in bag
There he tries to speak in a mob.
The man he walks, a pathfinder
He is always in helping mind
He is always in service to others
The paths where we misses sometimes
Surely there we can traced out
The good man pathfinder solves
Men of integrity and truth
The man of sacrifice his personal needs
This pathfinder a real man in service
He walks along a long distance in days
There in the end handing over to others
And a new pathfinder takes charge
And makes his own foot prints of service..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem