Love, who enjoys to live and croon,
with sleepy eyes and tucked-in plume,
amidst the virgin foliage as they claim
deep down inside some dimming blame.
To me a talking parrot
has been - a very close friend -
I taught him ABCs to recite -
to me he as if everything is right,
Whilst in the untamed forest I did rest,
A juvenile - with a very perceptive zest.
It weighs heavy on my soul
I feel the burden with a toll.
That brief moment with harp and verse
To pass the time - illicit goals!
My heart would deem it a curse
If it didn't quiver with the chords.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem