If my heart were a gilded flower
Would I give it to the first bee?
To arrive embowered in light.
I see. Yes, the world is often dour
Oh, I want to of drink love—drown in ghee
That buttermilk, she made metabolite-
Nothing makes me happier or drowsier.
Then watching her a woman in her saree
Moth like beneath the moonlight.
Remonstrate and dance encounter
Her lover, in his trembling apology
Hearts distance, still-in-satellite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem