Oh, bygones are bygones
And past never meets future;
The ruins of my dear inner temples
Dissolve in time's ceaseless streams;
Clouds of distance now make indistinct
The priceless strains of joys and pains
That flows outward in time's train
From memory's distant horizons.
A world truer than the transient present,
How can naught be for me!
A world more mine than me myself be,
How can haste to the sight's dark spot!
A breath-taking truth that drenched soul,
Now braves last breath to survive in thoughts
As rolls on the wheels of unending time
In memory's lanes, to oblivious dark side.
Healer, a great, indeed is time
While past is past and the present sits on neck;
Yet, some pasts, too real to be past;
Dealer, a great, indeed is time,
Who strikes steadily in subtle strokes
And blunts sharp edges of the painful past.
The ruddy glow of the magic sunshine
That floods from the past,
No more flutters innate wings,
Nor curdles the soul to foams of bliss;
Thoughts dip to a gulf of void
And indolence seizes tired limbs
And innate dim flame gasps for life.
Indeed, bygones are bygones
And past never meets future.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Actually, bygones are bygones.. liked your piece of work... :)