The Magical Glow.
I needed not to say a word
Her impressed look read my bard.
Therein there was a haunting psychic,
Willed willow in romantic hike.
A magic as if sending senses into sleep,
And melting the memory into dreamy fabric.
My Vagabond felt something like romance,
Flowery gusto in the spring-green trance.
No vocal transport but the full-bloomed dumb,
Defying my sensory enacted its triumph.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Many poets since the inception of poetry have attempted to decode the feeling of love, but none could say what it is. Like my predecessors, I too have taken an attempt here.This poem I think would catch the readers minds and they may have a glimpse of the ever unrealized enigma.