I envy upon him as He arises routine,
Without any mundane quarrel and fun time,
At non existing nights, fresh as the fire from the match stick,
Glowing as the charcoal pits that burn the meats,
Shining as the millions of neon lights in the same place,
The Sun always sneaks from the alley of East,
How is he able to be so generous to spend from his vault,
That is full of unstable gases that change their coats,
The unresolved tunes from the drum of the not weathered,
Vessel, that anchored the host of guests to spin in the distinct,
Paths, millions of years have gone and yet to arrive,
The Sun, the master of the universe, still handsome and potent,
The glorious spot on the forehead of universe, I envy upon you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes; you are right in your envy!