With this speck of paint would he rise,
Like he did in abyss of time to dwell this land.
Thousands of other then did rise,
But he lives still not treading the path of end.
Like an unseen wind of the day
An invisible man of a tale, he live
In the heart of the world and in those words they say.
For he lived the life one need to live.
As I kept painting Louis Pasteur
Contemplating a beauty on my wall,
Thought lead me deep some where, not so sure,
To wake and know his face I have brightened all
Too bright a thing spoils the art
The lesson I learnt, all best lie not in the bright,
Unless it has that effect of the dark.
So life is pretty in the hue of emotions, neither dark nor in light.
As I kept painting Loius Pasteur
Contemplating a beauty on my wall
Thought lead me to an immortal life, that was sure,
Of the star like number did men fall
Prey to the mortality which they feared,
Save for few now all perished
Like the dew on the morning blade
Disappear before its beauty cherished.
Death is but a wall I suppose,
Dying is our right by virtue
And living is what you make and choose.
As I kept painting Louis Pasteur
I knew what now immortal is,
Not those that hadn't faced the death,
For it's the must cross way of life,
But like him glowing on my wall
In the books that the earth read and in the labs he live,
His peers perished and so did he
Yet he live the life across the wall for he knew what immortality is.
Tread not the path more worn
Lest you are destined to die forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem