A fetus is getting matured
For futurity immediate
In the blessed womb of time,
With features of a better breed
And a fate of strange splendor.
How many of us would survive
The cadence of its deliverance
Unto this delicate land
Is what makes thinkers sad.
Ignorance is sure a blessing
For those who are most daring.
Events similar in history are rare,
But no wrong-doers could bear
The outcome of such clamor!
Opening the shell of time would
This new light peep in to souls,
Cleaning them of old stains
Done to many a feeble mass.
Colors would all fade off, save
Candid black for all living and
Splendid white for oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem