For the veil unfurls, curtains roll up
The satiny back-drop blue like a coral’s sheet
As one day, or an evening’s derelict voyage
Across the mist is the promised landscape
Of freesia and ambrosia, jasmine and rose:
A fairy tale in age, a child’s wish
Yet the fantasy, waiting on the steps emerald.
He made a paradise, they call it Taj
To the soul of the dead queen, to lie beside her.
And below the moon was the sight he beheld:
A captive of the past, he was encaged
An unworthy son or the soil’s anger
He might have stolen, many breaths, sons
Daughters and much a fond nights.
Back on the curtain is a melodious song
Neither wanting an encore, nor a repeat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem