She is sitting behind the iron barred
green window, looking at the winter flowers.
A prisoner of the spring
She is dreaming, weaving a delicate lace.
Her hands like little doves without plumage
they do patient, long lasting work.
And her soul is a loose butterfly
flies freely from place to place.
A year of dead illusions.
No love of a lover nor of a friend.
Where are the lovers' hearts? she wonders.
Saddened and alone, no one to talk to
deep in her secret emotions, she welcomes the new year -
Come, New Year and bring love with you!
Wonderful imagery transported through this fine translation into English. Thanks, Ravi ji. Happy New Year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you Rajnish. Happy New Year! May there be love in the heart of everyone everywhere in the new year!