It was an evening in my room,
It appeared as God knocked and came in.
I asked, “Who is it? and why such a laugh? ”
It kept silent and shed its tears
Though it seemed rich and delightful
but its face was sad and full of grief
I asked what for it came to me
and what can I do for it?
With a gasping and slurring voice
It broke its silence and told,
“Sorry! my dear man
up to your forty five I did nothing for you.
To heal the wounds in my heart
I came here to do some favour to you.”
I laughed and told,
“Sorry, you are unfortunate
and you can do nothing for me,
because I am a poet more than you,
and away from all fortunes and misfortunes.”
With face painted with disappointments
It vanished from my little room.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem