Pleasure Are Infertile Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

Pleasures are infertile,
The live in themselves and die soon,
But sorrows do not die,
They manage their procreation,
Take hold on all moments of life,
Even in the moist of dawn,
Or darkness of night,
They do not unhand us,
They do not leave us alone,
They walk by themselves
By carrying the load of pain,
They are dignified, loyal and grand,
Sorrows never die,
They have been going along humanity since ages.

Written By Shazia Akbar
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar