Still on the long, long race,
Struggling vehemently for the mace.
The track is filled with obstructions
To derail my mind’s determinations.
So mighty are my contenders,
Strong and fit as the crusaders.
I see some running astray,
Some tired, seeking a shield to stay,
Others gasping and prefer dying
Because it’s difficult to continue trying.
The summit may be far or near
But certainly, I will get there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem