A cuckoo broke her leg.
'O dear, O dear! ' lamented friends!
But laughed that sweetest koel,
like swishing flows of Ganges pious!
'Ye cut condolences thy
my friends! Did I dance ere
and never will! Singing
is passion my! That way
I's born, that way I grew
with purpose sweet, to spill
my tunes all over the world
and fill my soul as well
with sacred twangs and trills!
This's time, my time to sing,
aloud and unfettered,
and incessant with ease
and leisure aplenty!
No monsoon now, no fall,
all seasons my own springs!
Squatted in roost's my warmth,
tapping with my numbed legs
ah let me sing, ah sing,
my sweetest ever and best,
the names of Lord, in tunes
divine and songs of love
with all new grace in lilts!
O friends, the day I walk
again and fly afar
into the deep blue sky,
with drying up my throat
and raining wind-hit eyes,
in all silence browsing
around for food; that day
I sure lament in quiet!
Till then ah let me sing,
ah let me sing, oh sing! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem