The sun never says, 'Be it the night.'
The world turns its back
to show its other side.
Things happen
as you wish
Even then
you are
selfish.
Soul
sings immortality
in melodies unheard.
Frail body its music can't rejoice,
Rapt in sensuousness we ever grieve,
Bereaving, the divine bliss it fails to kiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem