She in her beauty is lost, mindful not
Of the illumination of life's worth
In her, but of the pleasures of her earth
Loudly she displays for eyes on to spot.
The notes she expends in futureless lot
Not just from her, but from men giving birth
To her dreams wild of life loose with false mirth,
The silent sower of her plight to rot.
Then her, the sour taste of realness has taught-
Fast lane of make-up and jeans, like a heath
Donning a desert's form, has now been caught
In the space of limbo. Hope not beneath
Doubt she perceives, to unleash will to sort
Out her life- restore it through virtue's teeth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem