When a poor man sleeps
by his Worldly possessions
on the road under street lamps,
Don't say that he won't dream the heaven
Yes, he dreams a different one
Where all his colleagues are there
But not much lights & dark it seems?
And they beg for alms from beggar-Angels
Who appear with their see through garments?
nimal dunuhinga
[The Moon sails high above in majesty
Amid the pailing clouds;
But from on high it moves the billowy sea
With its enchanting powers.]-Ivan Turgenev, from 'Home of the Gentry'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem