When the dusk slowly descends
I am glad cos in a short while I will hear the nightingale of my life
And my poetic inclinations play amateurish tricks with me
They take me to a dreamland
Intoxicate me promising sweet dreams
Befool me with my own follies
Deeper into the darkness, my imagination sees you all over in the house
Its wonderful to know that I am being fooled by the flight of my own
stupid imagery
But then in return I get your company all to myself
Real or unreal -I dont care
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem