Going out of station, it seems not easy to browse, read or writing new ever;
But somehow when I sit to write more than starting writing new is stagnant;
Weather is so drowsy that no new mood of zeal makes one go ahead with thrill;
That is my status today till I return to my place to resume my routine!
By continuous work in the same vein long we become slave of routine habit;
From where to start to continue with what we have begun becomes to be hard;
Yes, indeed it is hard-nut crack so as to go smooth on our usual way sure;
But after some time, again we become slave of new routine as if it's permanent!
Everything we in this world is not permanent and is only an illusion finally;
What we have as record in disc or pen drive or in prink form if destroyed, all are nil;
What remains in mind and heart of one should also in others too for ever lasting value;
Physically nothing remains to permanent but as ideas known to all may sustain long!
When the world itself has a tag of expiry date, nothing seems to remain ever here;
When this is so, what is the difference between dreams and realities we rely on?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem