Even at this point
I envisioned the hope-joints
The present and future times
Nothing but a puzzled miles
Impecunious state of man
Call it nadir of stance
A work and pray song to sing
Besides, no offering to bring
Wake up! from your slumber
Plan not plunder
As early morning sun rise
Make your hay, stand upright:
Sit not like a pestleless mortar
A pestle useless without its mother
Like our progenitors- be strong
In the throes of life- move on.
The bottom-line; strive hard
If need be; become a die-hard
The ways up is always down
From this Nadir, thou earn a glorious crown
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem