Love is not a dream
Neither is it an illusion
It is a rushing fountain
That flames the heart
The absence of it
Is like a scattered gun
That *leaves*the heart
In a barrage of disarray
The presence of it
Bursts out with joy
That is not devoid
Of valuable measure
it is a treasure
So desiring-ly rare
All salivates for it
But few get their money’s worth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem