That morning dews rolled
On the footpath of my cheeks
My hope shattered and my face forlorn
The pivot of my heart severed
And I moved with a rib case as hollow
As the atmosphere.
All the euphonies of the evening killed
And the echo gone into the valley alone
The cage is now empty
And the canary that sang and gave my soul
solace is gone.
To hobnob is not an exercise in isolation
Here I am staring at the cage
The singer gone
And the listener's ears ringing of emptiness
And my eyes see a dangling cage only
In the wind.
The cage is now empty. Nice muse of work with the sorrow of the mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When a singer is no more, there remains the echo of his vocal cord. The solace then is that he or she is listened to for ever. Nice work. Take solace in the chorus of the singer