The famous poet moves,
He remembers everything,
But when he stops,
He forgets everything,
But I minutely watch he prefers to stop now,
As he wants to forget that he is a true Poet,
It seems very strange to me,
When I ask the elegant sonneteer about the reason of it,
He remains completely silent,
But he can not refrain me long from realising it,
With my sensitive eyes I have come to know about the great pain in his poetic heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem