A sapling, she and I together grew,
pouring as much affection,
and nourishing with as much caress,
but on a forbidden soil,
under a cloudy sky,
with no one to know,
but, alas, only for a short-while,
after which we had to part,
abandoning the sapling to the fate,
we ourselves in unending pang.
Whose fault is it to grow
a perennial for a short while,
that would never yield anywhere?
Or is it like one who smokes with
pleasure, knowing it a harm to health?
Or have we to be content with
a passing cloud pouring rain?
No, let us keep it in a herbarium
as a memento for our emporium
when we part the company
rather than desert it in agony.
05.04099, Palakkad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem