Nira’s Tale of Love VII
In a drunken state, She was passing the time,
Was confident of committing a crime.
Slowly, slowly Her lioness body melted thin,
Became a loner nocturnal like a rust machine.
People meet, make love and separate,
She feared the love of love could be desperate.
Love is it thy name of worldly religion?
Always she wanted to be a disciple un-condition.
What is then redemption in this religion?
Indeed, boring child, satisfying all defines thy liaison.
Man born with emotion needs such liaison,
But few ill feted have fate disproportion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem