I steel remember that young girl of 13
Who sacrificed her budding youth to me
To cool and sooth my young fire
When I was knocking door of my 18
She is my first flower of love
Still blooming in my memory lane
She must be now look like
Old manuscript of my poetry full of dust
How can I forget her
She is my first line of poetry
I wish her to be a black rose
On my grave
Where pigeons will sing in her honour.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem