Of the lot, Preetha was the youngest,
The fairest, the most dignified.
Now I heard she had had liking for me.
I wish I knew it ere I left the arena.
We go ignorant of the love
Someone has nurtured for us,
And leaving the pavilion,
We feel loss when we learnt of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem