If Tusi were queen, bewildering me
And took rest on sabbath, the swans on wings
Rounding about the river could have been
As close as to the sea, the marine things
That float high, -Lovers, they, seeming to be;
Unduly path that may unclose bossom
To a full ringing earth might swear for her,
Day in, day out, such with aim, might be sheen, -
Alack! Can I be she, she mine, O hear,
Truth, always, is vested, Love it's wholesome
For, an early morning lays unto tone,
Of ecstacy, of high fever of joy
That I just prefer dignity to wheen;
If I not grill and tolerate alloy
Or obliged gulf of Love, she must atone.
Far a distance going and spending so
And likely if no a bar of demand
Be not shedded unto she and I 'tween,
There is no call, no, of immortal hand
There we would be things Love does not allow.
02/24/2017
COPYRIGHT@ RESERVED BY PIJUSH BISWAS
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem