My heart is a sacred shrine
Consecrated there the image of thine,
Though unseen and undefined,
But curved out of imaginary line;
And your name my beats chant with rhyme
Everyday not less than hundred times,
As the temple bell echoingly chimes.
But my goddess disappears while I am on line,
And futile becomes prayers of mine,
And I look fazed at her wrath and decline.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem