The deep -dark, rough blanket of the night
Covers the world over, rigid and tight
With chill outside this room compact;
Closed and withdrawn senses intact,
Choosing to set into a frozen state,
And gain the cosy sleep though not late;
A little away the salient, orchestra bawl -
Of the frogs, cricket sand the restless owl -
Charges the nearby pond and all around,
With a strange blend of pain, vein and sound;
All reluctant restraint turns futile indeed
And the unbeaten quacks and croaks, the hoot-heed
Supplant the tired sleep and goad the fancy
To gallop across the unseen land of portent chancy;
One often wonders why cold gloom and weird muse
Obsess the sane, hale mind and confuse
The mass of fear, loss and the harm covert
Lies amidst the cold darkness and the defence, curt..! ?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem