To her lilt, aspired in a silent mood-
Offering within the lay of soft hand-
Loud in plight of soft gentle song-
Out of rubbles, reluctant; far-flung
Down your lid; tender -cramped within
My passive thought beds and won
Veiled under this life’s home rubbished
Cry-Worry exchanged to nightingales disguise
‘Pass the Trip’- brilliant with this song-
Beauty and stun tomb for age and day-
Mine plunge, between path led there,
With mirth of her smile before I lay!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem