Perfection is a life-time work,
We try attaining through sheer toil,
And hardly see the peak at all,
But keep sliding down, even fall!
Perfection is akin mirage,
That dupes our senses and our mind,
And drives us crazy, crestfallen,
Like horizon that stays untrue!
Perfection is subjective then,
And differs from issues, moments,
Making man give up halfway through,
And leaving him imperfect still!
Perfection is a ghost-like goal,
That hardly can be half-attained,
Despite our best perseverance,
Defeating us well in the end!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem