It seems to be a rainy day.
A man roams on unending roads with thousands of thoughts.
He worships to the sky
When there is a drought,
Also curse for heavy rains.
Soft hearted, sometimes he scares by seeing his own shadow.
This innocent man,
A constant runner behind wealth which slips through his fingers?
A Passer-by of isolated graveyards.
He waits in the Life's-decayed inn until the rain seized and where does He runs this handsome man?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem