destined to be changing arenas,
venturing into a new world,
from a pool of common gender,
was all of a high task..
might be though,
but not a dry sand grabbing a little shower..
its the chastity of a pedicel and the flower..
cuturals being the cradle of a new culture..
sure it was dusk, but my eyes shone..
couldn't they miss a glance of you...
if they did, it was only on winking...
heard of the break batch..
it was not the batch that was broken,
but my little heart..
not a word spoken,
never the heart open..
moments were fragrant
and that was frequent..
fine dawn set on, to show the hand in your hand,
it was not mine, for, fate showed its stand..
its not mere attraction. that dies before me..
its not mere love. that dies with me..
its a sculpture, that lives and lives and makes a history...
a resonating write..so much expressed with such few words...crisp!
'its not mere attraction. that dies before me../ its not mere love. that dies with me../ its a sculpture, that lives and lives and makes a history...', true, things of the past remain for ages, to serve as eminent preservers of that time. Lovely lines.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent thoughts....sweet flow of poem.....