Cold, cold, it is icy cold
Despite the wood-fire last night
Touch of feet on the floor
Or hands with any object
Layers of cloth around the body
Take time to ward off the cold.
It is five o'clock in the monring
The top ridge of the Himalayas
Around Bomdila is lighting up
With the bright new dawnlight
Ahead of the rising of the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice piece to read ray of hope screaming...a 10.