When we move on,
On the dark route leading to destination,
After the sunset,
The lamps twinkle,
To show us the way,
They are several,
On both of the sides,
They go on burning, flickering
They burn not oil but blood,
That is why they cast lights,
All red, red on the path,
Leading to heights.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem