There will not be another morning for me when I will be frolicking around in a little garden,
chirping like a tweeting bird,
Like the birds cheeping right now so early in the morning,
competing full-throated with the Cello-Music playing on my desk.
There will not be another morning when I will imbibe the scent of the celestial air,
which brings the smell of Chrysanthemum, gift of Paradise,
which adorns my garden like a glorious queen-bee in its hive,
majestically announcing its supremacy.
There will not be another morning when I will pick up the sublime white Siuli flowers from the ground,
and put them in a garland,
Touching them, caressing them like precious gems,
And unknowingly saving them for someone,
Not understanding why.
But, there will be a morning when I will create a magical garland using gems and treasures from that past,
which faded away,
but never disappeared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An elegant poem with delightful imagery
Thanks, Bipasha. So glad to share thoughts with poets like you.