An old woman,
Accommodated nearby,
Her stories I still remember
Gorgeous stories I gormandised
soilders, guns and cannonades!
She professed her brilliancy,
an skillful raconteur.
The old woman, my friend
Her extemporaneous fables I salute
Indeed I was a bud
Tending to efflorenscence into a rose
Once she sat near me
I procrastinated before being too late
On great ecstasy
My blandishment were for her cheerful voice
Unpremeditated voices tactile on my hearts
Unstinting support on my profundity she got.
That day she talked of peace, aggrements
and treaties.
Lord Buddha stood on my eyes,
On those vivacious voluble spells.
The tales of peace I liked,
me, just a listener!
Fables, stories and fairy tales a
Concatenation of wonderful series
Unsoliciated advices, imaginary utopias
Versimilitude as if they were true
The tales, echoing on my mind
as that of ventriloquisim
Today I am an adult,
My shoulders are trammelled by responsibilities
She is no more in this world
But still I like such a tale, tale of peace.
I like such a world, world of peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem