Nothing to do in hell
except to dreaming for the heaven
all my trustworthy and fatal
left me on the mat, weaven
from the thread of fire
here no time to retire
all my misdeeds and evil
is counting continiously by devil
the God of death ' the Yamraj'
not stays and rest parmanently
in the hell, nothing is heavenlly
i am thinking for newly born
this type of dream, not true, morn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good poem