There were days of which I knew a little.
The age of infancy, most beautiful of times.
Nothing to care about, neither pain nor pleasure.
All I looked for is,
My mother’s warmth and my father’s hand.
Those days have passed,
And when I pen this down,
I have responsibility to shoulder,
And carry a burdened soul.
From Infancy to now,
All have changed.
Now my heart craves,
For that infant joy,
The true joy, to which can never return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem