What could be more spellbinding
than the night that hides
all the imperfections of world?
As fair as death,
it touches the soul,
calms down the inner turbulence....
....and turns us cold.
And what could be lovelier than the moon
that stirs the stronger emotion?
As gentle as a loving mother
who eases the pain.
It listens to all unuttered moans....
....and dries away the eternal rain.
I finally found a way to post my reply. Hahaha! (the power of scrolling down) Thanks, Rohith! Not knowing when to call it an ode is the reason I called it a prose. LOL!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Exactly, death is fair and this world is imperfect. a nice poem. top marks.