Behold scattered grains of mortality;
seeded deep into the lives of mortals;
pruning dreams till birth of reality;
availed from the slums of ancient Golgotha.
As men strive to trample on aged Time;
though the mortal hands are bound amidst fear;
fate is awakened from the slumbering mines;
reeling forth to weave humans' thread with care.
Desert-terrains of mere humanity;
abandoned but without mortal success;
for all men budget for eternity;
searching hither for eternity's crest.
How the celestial beings over this, laugh;
watching mere moulded dust leaping with glee;
with hands stretched forth to take hold of the staff;
but losing grip of eternity's tree.
Like frost patterns on a coloured window;
so lovely, so bright; but subject to change;
thus, immortal yearning that pleads to grow,
is planted and nurtured but dies again.
Oh ye men, moulded out of the Earth's crust;
longing to see the birth of a new sun;
know henceforth that thou art nothing but dust;
from it, thou were born; to it, thou returns.
This is the cycle of life; a circus;
where men bleed and hearken to death's decree;
fleeing the dark loop of humanity's curse;
armed fire-rings of immortality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So deep and reach in meaning, nice write man