February never asked July and August
why it had to suffer Emperor's ego.
May be it's the forbearance at last
lasting four sets of seasons in a row
that the Lords decided to bestow
it with this special extra day.
On this shortest month's last day, I do ask,
if for faith overleaped, leap seconds get added
to my timeline adjusting the moments lost in dark
humming your name and stabbing own head.
If I am to bleed my heart out today,
will you be fined? will you ever pay?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem