I adore
at this juncture of fruition
to my school teacher
who shaped my life subconsciously.
He, a metaphor of many ideals
an epitome of diligence
an embodiment of lily-white virtues
equanimous rigour of his soul
silently glitters from a lighthouse
to anchor the directionless ships against frantic tides.
He teaches with gusto as priest in a temple
a teacher of that phoenix
underpinning layer by layer
holding no canes but benignly armored−
the solicitous wings of hen protect her chicks.
His aura radiates
like a phlegmatic monk
of thousand years of his wisdom
as a cool placid sun
and his mind fleeces
with the nimbus of knowledge
filled with devotional apparition
and his words can pacify a king's rage.
No any accolades does he desire in life
but wish to enliven learning and edify students
nor does the poverty hinder his yeoman service:
starlight shines in a labyrinth of dark foliage,
meadow nourishes hays round-the-year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem