The maid in wee hours cleansed my life,
an utensil like object,
of all dirt,
the pressman , soon afterwards,
cleansed all my sins, failings in his detergents of pragmatism,
I got a call for shuttling truths on both sides of life,
happiness and sorrow,
that sweated me of strange sweats,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good prospective.thanks for sharing
Thank you Ashika.