Emancipation.
The image peeped through a somber mirror,
In the cave of my abstract heart ,
And the queen of imagination dissolved in feeling,
Dumb but murmur us with remotest healing.
Lost in admiration, I stood benumbed,
And got escaped into psychic-whirlwind,
Senses between 6th and 8th dimension,
Rolled and tolled my mundane ruin.
Amidst that third Eye's visibility,
The Face of my Dearest sprang,
With glory garland of impossible measure,
In my neck, in my Being She hang.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem