He Strums His Old Guitar Poem by nimal dunuhinga
He Strums His Old Guitar
The humble river flows quietly in a starry night
And he makes a sad tune sitting on the river bank.
From afar an owl hoots
While the Moon floats on the ripples.
He cries to the Moon; 'Please do not get drowned as I'll make you a song to rest on my side.'
'I am really fed up of those old songs the Sun too used to sing at all.'
Haughty Moon whispers in a friendly manner.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/23/2024 2:16:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
The moonlight inspires poetry that might be too fragile for the day. Beautiful write, Nimal. Warm regards, Sandra