I wonder how relations could
turn fickle
How pious bonds could turn to
be brittle
How these relations that were
built with little pieces of mettle
Could make people's joys seem
so subtle.
The subterfuge that kinsfolk
hatched
Has swayed them from commitments
sacred
Now these commitments are mere fibs
That ironically make them jib
At the sympathy of their close ones.
These relations do matter
Our dedication to the kins should not alter
We ought to begin yet again
the light-hearted banter
That dwells us in long span of
rapturous laughter
The paths are inspiring when there
is someone to look up to
The culture of love is the breast of
our tranquility
That has kept us alive hitherto
Our relations should not be fickle
They are nurtured with unwavering mettle
With hope, with altruism, with patience
and with time ample
For it is a sacred connection and a
virtuous battle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem