Who art thou, that speaketh: 'the beautiful one's are not yet born?
Who'd ever know, such a soul exist?
Your beauty, define lots of wealth!
Your very kind, designed to mock the very existence of 'rote';
The bloom in thy cheeks must be that of buoyancy!
How sweet everything about thou must be...
Where does thou place thy eye's, saying: 'they are not yet born? '
Oh! How blind thou must be!
Even the blind, see through 'it' and call 'it' 'beauty';
Hmm... I pray to call 'it'-'soul-beauty';
Though, thou(beauty) still faceless;
Thy very presence, felt through thy vessel...
Hitherto, none has been;
So the question persisted: 'where art they? '
Even the daffodils compete with thy beauty;
Limitless possibilities in comparisons as to thy beauty!
Oh lest I forget, I doff my hat for the creator of this beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem