To see
A fresco of thousand years back
Relics with each corner’s crack
At the end, how a dying sun yawns
New aspirations with a rising one.
To hear
Flicks of a flying bird at dawn
Rhymes tangled in a pure hymn
Gloomy little stroke of violin.
To make
Sense; every bit of nonsense
Feel mine in your lined eyes.
To make hear and to see me
Be with me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem