Too little with my two pens-
Join the power to unusual eyes
Path swallowed in a watershed day
Call them with pathos and cry.
They are restless and not esteemed
Run after thy; plight ruthless
And mine too, perplexed to chain
Leaves the earth, in the leave of sleep.
Grey with dismal sense and serves to wind
Say my molders to my soul solar
To insularity is left to loneliness
Broaden to right to taste and smell
Make these to fire red and blue
Confess; Dream is to pearls in the Blue
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem