V
Deep call directly from the heart
When to begin and where to start?
All claim and praise it as an art
I can only say it is inseparable part
I would love to sing
That may create melody and ring
In ears as unforgettable echo
The vibrations and waves In air to go
Stay for a while and spread the fragrance
Flowers to boom and bees to sit once
Such the honey and store in place
Only I reach for sweetness not to replace
I shout with cheers as sun rise
Sing a song with full of promise
let kindly lead me to light
prove me wrong if I am not right
Breeze is about to depart
I will have to make fine start
I breath in air as fresh energy
To release it in song and very easy
What are the words that may come out?
What will be the feelings that may be talked about?
I shall hear human voices to sing and dance
It may be thing to rejoice and feel at once
Let al the hands raise for appeal
Only for love and hatred to repeal
The age old wounds slowly to heal
The peace and calm to remain as real
I shall cry earnestly and feel
I want strong bond and deal
Let all say with one voice and seal
Have the toast and drink with very good zeal
Will it hang only balance?
Will we be looking only at fence?
I shall bear no grudge and wish
Deep sea but free movement for fish
I shall feel little guilty but not with shy
I may have number of question but not ask, why
It is wroth and calculated try
It is my pure imagination which does roam and fly
I can sing in pure devotion
That may bring everything in motion
People may think of leaving the crusade
Faulty thought of killing and hate
It may naturally flow
The songs may appeal and show
Heads in respect to almighty and bow
This is how we need to think and grow
My songs may reach to end of globe
The may travel without any probe
It may directly rule and show
This may be seen as crucial blow
Let I be hanged for no fault
Let my wounds be rubbed in salt
I shall leave no stone unturned
The love and respect may certainly be returned
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem