When fire burns in the forest,
We all see its smokes,
When I say fire burns on the river,
You all bother me with queries,
Demanding for its ashes.
I am dying a silent death,
Still you call it normal,
My blood is gradually draining off,
Yet you call it typhoid,
Because you can't see through the mirror of love.
My heart burns the most,
My head aches ceaselessly,
My temperature runs like a torrent,
When my soul rests on you,
And you still see it as normal.
It is worth a disastrous moment,
To love you like roses,
It is the most painful task,
To cherish you like a summer,
While your mind is somewhere else.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem