He strums his old lute's melancholic whisper and the everlasting song.
Her lustre eyes will never get satisfied
And he cannot leave her in the lurch.
His mysterious entanglement and the lovelorn will be a long lasting Endeavour.
There is any loophole to let go the illusion?
And if not, the non-starter will burn in the sadism it seems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dramatic, compelling, rather obsessive. Perhaps illusion provides its own escape. Excellent writing, Nimal. Sandra