15th July 1981, retains a silent event,
And through the cycles of years grows the seed,
Now the youthful tree, produces mead,
And pours the trillion poetic -goblets.
The image-queen, harvests transparent thoughts,
And lures feeling in every string of your lyre,
The frenzy from Brahman illumines fire,
Time retires, but you perpetuate.
So many poetic-beds of mighty souls,
Prove tenor of our imaginative heritage,
And among their foot-prints, the posterity,
Would read and remember you, in sands of time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem