Many times during His work,
This Master Craftsman,
Has made the mistakes,
He produces the Xeroxed human,
In haste: all behave as the robots,
It is too hard to think out of the box,
Sometimes he takes times a little longer,
So many mad scientists are in the labs,
They try to decode the secrets of the God,
The crippling determination in their mind,
God has made them based on His own,
Genetic code, but fragmented to the bits and bytes,
The waves are there since time immemorial,
A mistake of Him has made human successful,
The toys of Gods are playground to the mortal,
The journey to Him is made through the portal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All clones roaming the world. Beautifully rendered.