Air can touch that lamp,
can fall upon, the sun rays bright.
Rains can wet the lamp too,
but that is not it's life.
It can see the world or the sky,
can fetch for it, a good price.
But, would remain a dead thing
unless it burns or ignites.
Because a lamp is meant for,
to burn in the night;
To bear whole of the heat
and give others glowing light.
It is made of gold or clay
it's worth is it's spirit and stripe,
whatever decoration it bears,
worthless, unless enables one's sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fine poem encouraging to do ones assigned duty.