The Heart is no more, the Heart is no more.
It beats, beats, beats like a Device somehow
In His weary bosom, in His frozen outer core.
All Heart-felt emotions have dried out now.
The whisperings of Soul cannot reach heart
But resounds unheard and dissolves in vein.
Once Love too dwelt there as a central part
Yet, the Heart is now a terrain without rain.
A Heart died though it still beats as a limb.
He is so busy that He will not notice even
For He has a long Success-ladder to climb.
Who is He? He is one of the Modern Men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem