On his birthday the poor farmer dreams
After decades of bitter fighting with crops.
He's raised on grass
But now he sees the pasture
A barren land,
And faraway ruined tomb of his poem like wife.
The offspring abandoned the fruitful soil
And ran away to the colorful Town.
He's alone and bedridden
But still bit comfortable on his hay mattress.
Who lit hundred candles on this dark cake; Is it the World's end?
And he firmly believes that his beloved wife celebrates her intimate companion's centenary.
A very effective poem painting with the flickering candles against the dark world in which the farmer lives. Beautiful title, but a very tragic story. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear Nimal, Your poems never fail to astonish with the depth of their perception and the compassionate nature of their characterization. Your title is especially poetic. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥