Looking at the foliages,
swaying complacently,
and pliant to gusts and adversities,
as the gods' blessed them to be.
Listening to wind's voice,
deliver messages of silver linings,
well-comprehended and prevalent,
to inspire and lift-up the daunted,
oppressed and misguided
Towards the discernment
they're most fated to,
where, lyres are played with eyes, twinkling
and music, not of wailing but, tidings
of better beginnings...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem