He often writes her
And often rewrites her
he often sings her
And often resings her
To him, she is his song
The sweet sagas of serenity.
To her, belongs all his paradise
Like the divinity, she holds him.
Beautifully, bashfully, but he loves her.
He loves her in secrecy without any exhibition.
Without Obviousness, without pomp.
He bears plenty of pain
He combats callous cruelties
He tries— but he never wins
For pain define love, he often says.
Broken and buckled sometime
Yet with hope to meet her,
To talk her, to love her
He often remembers her
He often weeps for her
Comrade, a poet in love
Is perfect example of exquisite beauty!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem