Searching olden books
From one booth to another,
I felt the shadow of the earlier
Antique scented times
Beneath the neon light.
I turned my face;
An enchanting voice
Broke into my book thoughts.
The evening was darker than usual,
The voice was softer than earlier;
Like the fairy of prehistoric times
She began to touch the books
With her beautiful hands;
Beads of sweat glistened
On her cherry cheeks;
Suddenly I lost her glimpse;
Moving to and fro, I returned
To that bookstall!
I put wretched fingers
On those books touched
By her slender, scented hands;
After so many days & nights
I felt the presence of my fairyland Diva, soothing my soul for a moment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem