Neither do the white bodies of the universe
say good morning to her
nor do the handmade stars
give her a kiss.
Earth,where so many roses, fine sentiments are buried,
could die for want of a glance, a scent,
This dusty ball is lonely,
so very lonely,as she sees the moon's patched clothing
and knows that the sun's a big thief
who burns with the many beams he has taken
for himself and who looks at the moon and the earth
like lodgers.
This poem is by Kajal Ahmed and I merely translated it into English.
Choman Hardi, This earth has yielded itself to so much and is still here. This poem gives me cause to think about connections of it as a living being. Thank you so much...........Blessings to you. My writing is simple but it's me...........Kathy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ty so much guys for looking at my poems