The bloom.
A bud in fast sleep,
Like a infant,
On her mothers bosom,
Soaking in warmth,
Of love, life and poetry,
Assured,
Self convinced,
That this moment,
Will last for am eternity,
Not defined by god,
But my mom.
Hardik Mahesh Vaidya.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem