There is no passion, no desire, no memory in the heart
That there is a constant sorrow in the heart
Life is complicated
So there is a waking city child in the heart
Which could not turn into tears due to confiscated eyes
This one drop of blood is stirring in the heart
Then came the call from a city of hope
Then there is a passion in the heart
Is a captive body of a charming charm
Then a trap is formed, another memory is in the heart
All desires and longings are gone
But the strangest thing is the desire in the heart
What a truth-re-echoing poetic marvel! Oh perfectly true, indeed - the very chief desire in the heart: exactly wherein Man's whole compass of instincts and actions and words remains so immovably pivoted...defining all they essentially are - whether or not their outward traits prove it. Yours is another exclusive, fact-laden cadre of poetry altogether, Shakir. And I'm officially falling in love with it rather wholly unapologetically: -)
'Then a trap is formed, another memory is in the heart All desires and longings are gone But the strangest thing is the desire in the heart' - an eloquent expression! Your poems are improving in quality. The picture is nice (shoulders and above) .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That there is a constant sorrow in the heart Life is complicated So there is a waking city child in the heart.....wonderful