When she is not nearby,
I must not lie,
I suffer from,
Sweet gloom.
I miss her much,
And from the clutch,
Of the vile Satan,
Endeavour to run.
Yet the days are shorter,
But longer the nights are,
Waiting is what I can do,
And feels her so.
At times think I,
Does she feel shy,
Dreaming of me,
In her psyche?
"Come sooner" says my heart,
Since I cannot part,
From you even for a day,
This much I can only say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem