Perfect man, perfect work,
And it is intellect.
All questions and
All answers are there
Within intellects.
An intellect is the garden of lights,
Lights of love and truth.
For the intellects
We see the world beautiful.
No news but pray for life,
And life is continuing
Without any ending anywhere
Just it is a dance as said
On birth-death circle,
On birthless and deathless feet.
And the winner is the intellect,
With his work in perfection.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem