Tommorrow is not just the day, following,
Time flies fast and past the day, gallopping,
Day yields to night and night to day, not, whistling,
Men on this Earth spend day and night, jostling.
The Sun rises and then yields to the Moon,
The Moon too yields to the Sun, as soon;
Men and his cohorts blind to these boons,
Don't yield even a bit, and add more to their looms.
Yielding is not surrender;
Yielding is not a blunder;
Yielding is not for meek and slender,
Yield for Tomorrow, so pleased would be
the Great blender.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very interesting perspective/contemplation. Fascinating and intriguing....man yields...when? When he arises? Is he, by this, to cease regretting past tomorrows, as well as ceasing longing for future tomorrows? Is it a call to be content in the now? Hmm. Very interesting indeed.