Butterflies of my garden; my son and daughter,
I am not going to give you anything, but an idea,
How to take many things from this world; with no err?
Peasants, they plough the field and then, sprinkle urea,
You know water and air they found easily, their ways,
When we are asleep and sun peeps, through the rays
Teenagers are very fertile; can be molded for yield,
Either, they can destroy a nation or nations build,
You be a peasant and wait for the monsoon to come,
Be ready, be cautious, be alert-use the chance you get,
Always try to keep head high with pride-up your thumb,
Must find future in the morning and not when sun set(s) ,
‘Cause I know, teen is a slippery road, many slid and gone,
In spite of being Kings and Queens, have turned to pawn
This is the time you can see beauty of this beautiful earth,
I am quite sure; life starts here, for the life, living worth,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem