Dead midnight
we were walking
in the moonlight
Under the jamun tree a path
led up to the hill
Dewdrops soaked her mind
the chilly wind did not feel like
shaking off the kanchan flowers
Dressed in white like the wings of a heron
I found no words of sympathy
Slowly the moonlight was dimming
In the darkness
the path under the jamun tree
led up to the steep hill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem