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