I know not why, a rose takes to the rain,
Nor why, with too much, it oft wilts then die,
So with this heart, as regards rain and pain,
The same as when I cried, not knowing why;
But why when noonday comes, stars could not shine,
And why do moonshine melt hearts in its glow,
The same as when, one willing night was mine,
When moments rushed, and yet Time did not flow;
But why God added pain to His last work,
Without which, Paradise would not be well,
Which turn is best, when road breaks into fork,
How will I know which gives Heaven or Hell;
...Ah, riddles of the heart, which cry out loud,
...But why it rains, without a hint of cloud?
.
.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem