Life keeps singing the song of surmise,
and till faints of wings, the fancy falls and dies.
We move through strange realms, under unfamiliar skies,
Getting pain for it all isn't worth a prize.
When heat of the days become cold of the nights,
and trees whisper tales of grief and disguise,
when melody of songs become sounds of cries,
and in flood of tears, mankind subside.
The angels of hope fly far and wide,
an unconditional love is everyone's delight.
what hurts us deep down inside,
is the time that is spent can't improvise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Nishu. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.