While we see every thing around is ephemeral
every moment ticking off to utter oblivion
all things inching towards obliteration
still we behave as if we shall survive the apocalypse
Knowing nothing is constant; like winter and spring
regimes pass, empires disappear, fortunes swing
new names enter the scroll of honour and fame
new victors stand on the podium in every game
Yet we cling to our little straws in raging deluge
when we are fast tottering towards our fall
because we are born with a deathless spirit
infinite capacity to dream and a will not to yield.
(Yayati)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem