Yonder, a flower, pride of the season,
Beautiful and charming—it’s said—
Which mocks at me;
Smiles at my wretchedness.
Yonder, you, patches of clouds,
Floating in the dark sky, shed
Heavenly tears musical to poet;
But too tedious to my ear.
Here a hapless child! Anchor of nation!
Dumb of hunger and thirst,
Though ‘round brine of the brine,
Flooding the houses, house of mine.
You, the Producer of the Queen Land, -
Beautify her and deck in green:
Can allure one whose bowel’s empty
Unless sound mind makes beauty?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem