To the sleepless sky, the sleepless souls wander
Leaving the sleeping dreary hearts burnt into cinders
We could only morose and grieve
Once she said that life is a bitch
As divine stole the fugitives legs,
And left them dying on the dawnlight bench
Nightingale, for the light of morning sun, how long it had been?
Eight hundred and thirty five days you both had trace
Nightingale, for the sake of our tired eyes, how long we had been?
Eight hundred and thirty five days you both had faced
Yet, you had already found love in between
A noble love that life could ever be given
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.