: My Son, Zubair
In the journey of men
countless of failures and attempts
there are wounds that heal
some took times to recuperate
There are injuries that never convalesce.
Occasionally, trapped by others
usually, fell into own deadfall
but still, there were lessons learnt
Few are gratuitous, many are costive.
Too many scars layover men
in the journey to know themselves
And becoming; a true matured man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem