With a gleaming crescent high above,
Witnessing supernovas and shooting stars,
Above a loitering nimbus
That depicts the swaggering zephyrs,
Which come alive and bathe
Prowling creatures in shadows
Waiting for hunt to linger.
While lovers dance,
romance
On a rooftop,
Wishing on shooting stars
Beyond the gleaming crescent,
Amidst the chilly zephyrs,
As prowling creatures wait
In shadows,
For hunt to linger.
How can one call it night-fall,
When so much here is alive?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem