You shed the morning tears,
In daylight, meandered with gloom,
to mend the torn part,
pent up in one's heart.
You wiped off the blight,
speckled in your eye,
for the favorable affection,
to replace the felt pain.
Yet, time's too elusive of chances
of abridging pure handshakes.
Though chances are thin
to tot'lly eradicate the pain,
But, copious mem'ries forever linger,
to nourish the forgott'n laughter.
Where, smiles are real,
handshakes are warm,
eye twinkles are pure,
Enough to start the disarm'ment
of the long hoax game- - -
A cold war's lament,
where, teardrops apparent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem