The beautiful bow of her neck in the air chariot
Falls upon the pinnacle of the protracted meditation of my youth.
The waterbody vibrates with the oscillations of the flowers of Amaravati.
The turmoil of her innocent mind uproots
The bottomless depth of my human life.
The hot midday sun hangs on the silvery sweat of her face,
As if the stagnant wings hovers over the shadow on water
How can I bestow my flowers to my beloved with my tied hands?
Strange paintings of the hanging balcony of her distracted mind hangs eternally on my wall-
The wonderful minaret of dreams is in her eyes - this is love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem