Yours is wondrous Poetry
Laden with the ripe fruits of emotion,
The lustrous layers of your longing.
One should only very carefully tread
Upon the suburbs of your frock
For your heart's sluices grow restless,
And the white waters will sweep away
All but the wariest onlooker.
Wish I could open up my heart
And let it pour itself out in a poem,
Unabashedly, unfettered like yours,
But my poetry is barren and bleak,
Stale concoction in the recesses of the brain,
For I dwell stubborn in a Fortress,
Content with merely hurling snippets
Of cerebral musings over the battlements.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem