Deep down in the fairyland
when darkness conspired to overwhelm
appeared those two innocent hands
led me to a sovereign land
Since that very blessed day,
The tenderly esoteric guide
traveled with me far and wide.
A dream of garden planted
Taught to plant flowers
And adore them
Not to pluck.....
Liberty so called, I enjoyed a lot
War of freedom, many I fought
Blossomed garden, who cares?
Plucking flowers, why not i dare?
For; oblivion is all that she shared...
Oblivion is all that she shared...
Many a monsoon passed by
Many a times drenched
But not with her thought
As now do I!
The string of memory mocks at me..
Remorse! Now those two hands utter..
if I could place on his head the knock of my AK 47!
I wish I could press my trigger!
Aaah...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem