Across the cemetery, along the toll road;
Breathes or dies a soul out in cold;
Each moment has a fiery desire,
For him to suffer there's zero higher.
Was good with the good in despair,
Hope he knows is also in fire,
Never was bad with the bad to glare,
The fraud of the soil begins to stare,
Diamond can be shaped by diamond care,
But mud can not wash mud even rare.
Will any hand ascend from the graves dead?
Right! It's fashion or fear to be calm instead,
Life can not be found to seek for self glow,
Give it to others to get your heart grow,
Do not give up till something to give and feel;
Keep trying but grief or lament futile to conceal,
Where joy and sorrow need no new preacher,
Through my verse I act as a moral teacher.
Without hate, fear and lust live night and day;
For others he labour, worry, help, protect and pray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem