Creeping into your bower,
Pleasuring with expense,
Sparing no innocent flower
Or shiny minted pence.
T’were some lovesick beggar
Who gave his soul for free,
Outdone by a leonine dandy
Peddling influence for a fee.
I creep inside your heart
Amid the nettling thistles,
Hiding among the brambles,
Of my limping love epistles.
Love this of yourself-
Fields of fallow self-reflection,
Give yourself away for cheap
In hope of fond affection.
Now who left your maidenhead
As on a cold corpse to me?
In all you love and cherish;
What is left for me?
It was all mine to give,
And though it may be free
It was for pleasure,
All I hoped Love to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
T’were some lovesick beggar / Who gave his soul for free, Poet, you have crafted the existence of thousand millions of our earth habitants really who have nothing except giving their soul for free. The circustic picture of Our proud civilization. Yes, you have documentised the present very artistically. Write more poet. We the readers await you. Apoet Bangla