Every sixty seconds spent waiting,
On the reality to obtain promises,
Could be a minute of inheritance gone?
Never to come back and take chances.
More time may elapse after still waiting,
And you may grow faint and weary,
But preserved confidence in expecting,
Fulfilment of promise to make you happy.
Keep waiting to inherit the promises,
For this is what patience implied,
If we believe, faith preserves appearances,
To see the glory for which others has died.
Sitting awake in the dark still waiting,
Being who I am claiming to be,
The solitude of memory is everything,
A secret at the time belong in me.
On a trail where mystery is what I am doing here,
As if watching silent glimpse of myself,
The waiting goes on around the next corner,
Always passing the enterprises I felt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem