Like golden leaves turned to dead,
So golden thought turned to be head,
Summoning age old experience; a wise,
Having a last breath before one dies,
Dead leaves become manure for survive,
Not only his own tree but to earth revival,
Our acts and deeds last long for generations,
Our own offspring are our own incarnations,
Our own society is outcome of our dedications,
We have to shape and control and water the plant,
To grow in sweet environment without any slant,
What we are going to keep for them to built nations,
A barren mind can produce a barren field,
A poisonous plant produces poisonous yield
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem