The winged builder, architect, labour—
Proficient at all,
Build his shelter—small,
But took a roof of house—tall,
Accumulated sticks, hays, twigs, garbage from various worlds,
piece by piece arduously,
Without loosing peppiness in wings,
Finally, constructed his shelter heavenly.
Delicate yet firm.
Ofcourse, they fly but home is their need too.
It was his escape from eternal flying in sky, rain and sun's boiling shine.
But one day the owner decides to achieve hygiene,
For his house—tall,
Came and wiped his home—small.
--- Mohit chouhan.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem