He has got time to read and read,
But no time for love,
Love for me and myself,
To say, I love you,
I love you,
So emotionally and passionately.
No work to do,
Just go on reading and rading
And writing papers,
A man mad after books,
Not for his lady love
In waiting,
No time to attend to her.
If it continues for so long,
Maybe it that one day
He will go mad,
If the things be as such
Continuing for so long
Then who will see me,
Look after me?
Thinking it
After discussing with other village ladies,
She came like a whirlwind,
Took the books and notes by storm
And hurled them,
Flung open, thrown
And smashed and torn
And the scholar with the head on the hands
On getting a foolish wife
And his labours gone waste,
Turned water,
Thinking over his life,
As it lay as a blank sheet of paper.
The dream of becoming a scholar
Could not materialize it
As some make to it easily
And some even not after
Working hard for it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem