This is the garland of flowers,
Of many hues, colours and scents,
They are but dead and forlorn
No more able to feed the bees,
Who wept heir demise.
Wild were their homeland,
Transplante3d to the farms,
For the dough for men,
Who harvested merciless.
The land which bore them
were once was wild,
Happily they nourished,
The flowers in the past.
The lovers who wore them,
Never saw their colors,
Or breathed their scents,
For mere show of their loves.
Buried the flowers lay,
Not bearing the fruits,
Which they did in the past,
And their souls were unfulfilled.
In silence the flowers prayed,
For their natural demise,
Salavtion of souls in future,
And make the men kind to their kind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem