I long to hear again that sweet strain
what Gabriel once had played on his horn
the day I was born
The Song wordless though
hidden in beads of my rosary
I carry between my ribs
The rosebud has withered.
Bring new roses to adorn my hair
all around I feel your scent in the air
How I yearn to fly
in the company of dancing minstrels
for whom you spread the scarlet carpet
The heaven’s floor is a garden of voices
where silence is the longest note
whose notation the Master Musician Himself wrote.
(Yayati)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem