The pulse of Time that quickens in our veins,
Speaks nearness, that our lips have now attained,
More so, it augurs love's desire that reigns,
A prelude to the kiss forthwith obtained;
As eyes would close, to perceive things the most,
With empty mind, to fully grasp all truths,
Your touch remained, as others I've all lost,
To hold, for pain of emptiness it soothes;
In moments of desire, our dreams collate,
And vow in faith, that's sealed to last till death,
But why, that flesh would really so dictate,
That soon, bouquet of love becomes a wreath;
………Pity the love, or else, the lovers be,
………Alas, this so includes poor you and me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem