They filled their seats fitted not like coffins,
As the bird, with age perched on its wings,
Prepared for the sky.
Into the dark of the night it soared
Into the sky it had known and charted,
It glided with grace.
Did darkness becloud the bird?
Or its wings surrendered to the youthful storm
And got tossed into the vast uncharted skies?
The firmament became a conundrum
And years of flight in the skies came to null.
Lost without trace and no sense of direction,
Gravity plucked the bird out of the sky.
Into the gaping mouth the insatiable crust
The bird took along a hundred and seventeen souls,
All sat cremated in their coffins.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem