The infection
With which you infected
My whole from every direction
Is now increasing rapidly
Getting worse and worse
With the time deadly
Look, I am on sickbed
Waiting the ailment to be the worst
To be incurable instead
I am grateful to your eyes
That gave incredible love germs
Their fatal moves no one denies
With painful hope I look forward
To you to acknowledge the emergency
And admit me to your heart's ward
I would prefer to be in your care
Treating me with your kissing syrup
Under fanning eyelids and shadow of hair
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice lovely write, I think we all are infected.