Let the birds soar in the sky,
Let the grey clouds float in the high.
There is nothing called war-plane,
Let the bluest space trust this claim.
I had no knowledge about Revolution
Even I didn't recognise at all
If it were a lesson of primary syllabus
I could surely memorize.
Look at the ground
Grains are the aftermath of a waiting
Observe the Solar
Seasons are the expectancy of motions
Touch, if you touch-
Cinders will turn into evergreen leaves,
Decayed hands of inclusive Shahara will be shaped into woodland.
I can still perceive the lingo of immense sky;
Yet I've the alliance with the shower of rainy.
Though the sigh evaporates into the breeze;
Desiring to be extinguish -
With the fatigue of thirsty suicide,
With relative's phobia, step in on the nameless path.
I've placed the corpse in the country's cemetery
With apathetic sight, the phenomenon of father!
Enjoying fresh breeze on the mast of vessel,
Forgetting mostly pathway,
The believers of Socialism are as anxious as the huntsman-
Against to the Holy Words of Heaven,
Concerning the one and only duty.
I realise - without identifying the sourceof water and glacis, my son will raise mundane song of love,
Uprooting the root, he'll blow up the fleeting flag on the deceitful path.
I realise - leaving the soundtrack of modesty,
Leaving the blue of the Azure,
Keeping the blue greasiness of water at the shore,
Considering as ornaments -
Adorns catastrophic with the blue of anguish.