Having wings don't mean,
To fly and master skies
Or soar on swollen tides,
To spy the silver preys.
Some do mount on skies,
But, not on gliding wings.
Marvels do one sees,
Of seas, skies and sands.
Rooted deep in soil,
Man can win on toil
For future none can foil,
And withstand turmoil.
Let us dream and soar
Heights of skies, and roar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem