It hurts me, my poems
when you don't come in dreams.
Moonlight waits.
How devastated
was your faceless voice in dark!
The nightingale cries.
Like "la grippe"
the noiseless words leave the
night wounds in eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good poem, sir Satish.....10++++++++++++