where is bloom of art lost in darkness,
mist falling by night yet clinches moon,
heart still awaits by gleams of light,
love yet mills valley of miffed up lone.
image is not far away from mirror,
dream is still ageless in its grace adored
as ocean weaves waves of blue
mirth still rolls on to sate sands onshore
wine may inebriate stance to tremble,
veracity of fact yet upholds wishes
when warmth empwers soul to ressurrect
cry of joy reels in woumb by rungs of creation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem