Sitting in my chest, as the wizard
making lots of musical notes with dots,
as a screwed monkey toy,
beating the drum with joy,
dispensing minute zigzag,
and heat from the stove's gaps,
sometimes as a master Mozard,
non stop singing from you, my Lord,
jumping as a young kid on the pad,
drowned me in the bottomless lust,
sitting at one place, taking me to many places,
how could a prisoner as you, set me this free?
Sometimes I feel the ice and Mediterranean,
Sahara is too hot; all I feel at my feet,
no two days are similar to count the blessings,
no two days match with each other in musings,
no two days have passed away in silence,
no two days will be the same as long as you chime.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
each second and each minute is different from another, very fine and true.