I am not at peace
At all
Your sweet words
And the soft touch
Of the breeze
Could not make me pleased
Neither the tub of your love
Could bathe me
Or the cool glass of your laugh
Could satiate me
I remain thirsty!
Nor your dazzling beauty
Could give me any stability
Something drives me
From behind
The same thing beckons me
From the front
I am totally restless!
Writhe in pain
Cut into thousands
No blood oozes
No one can see
This is not a disease
Nether any psychological problem
Yet I suffer!
It may not appear
much logical
But this is true
And I know what is it
For name
All they cry
But I never tell them
By its name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some insatiable thirst and restlessness reside in the poet's heart and it's inexplicable. (I think there should not be a gap between fourth and fifth line as they are connected thoughts)