Scorching Time,
Sipped, one after another, and another;
Absorbed her, for eternity.
Too dry, is her inside:
Too wet, are her eyes;
Unconsciously, wet can’t meet dry.
More, she digs herself:
Deeper goes the dryness;
Her sandy cracks are in talk.
To her, giving gave aridity;
Selfish takers!
If bravely said,
Her moon eloped with sun;
From day to night,
After all her endeavours;
She stealthily gazes at it.
Unknown and oblivious,
When did time give her this shape?
Half in reality, half in fiction;
With no vision,
Helplessly, she waits for an overflowing stream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem