Come in my dream, I beg, no more;
For your vision makes my heart sore.
It reminds me of the days past;
I thought then they would ever last.
I loved you mutely and truly,
But often become unruly.
That love smoulders in my heart,
And it seems will never depart.
Dead are the moments I met you;
For me you kept on waiting too.
A sort of sensuous fragrance
I smelt often in your presence.
How wondrously you sang a song,
Being rapt, in your passions strong!
It gave me an inclination
To sings songs in my own fashion.
You oft prepared tea or coffee,
And served me so courteously.
What a taste it had and flavour
Mingled with your love and favour!
When you were nigh, I gazed at you;
With confidence I used to woo.
Those who got the scent were jealous
Of us and often made a fuss.
Come in my dream, I beg, no more;
For your vision makes my heart sore.
It reminds me of your fair form,
When I observed no rules or norm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem