I lay underneath the garden of agony,
and buried my broken dreams there,
Soil witnessed my struggle and was wet with the tears,
Someone came there intriguingly,
and dig it deep,
The dreams which were still alive,
started to bleed,
The calmness of garden mourned,
but was unheard by the passenger,
As he had taken a piece of dream into his hand,
and sowed it to another land,
called as the land of fortune,
and it had ripen into the Golden fruit,
All of the dreams died in the barren land of sorrow,
besides the one which irrigated through the shower of happiness,
and it had made all the difference...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem