Twas thy nature to find oneto blame,
For thy folly thine eyes saw no vein,
Tis thy will, so full of folly's pill
Thath grinds it's bitter bread in wrath's mill
Ah! but if she was not blinded then,
Her glory and bliss would not pen,
poetry o pain and regret
For her heart silently wept,
HOW doth thou taketh her love for granted,
Unmerciful soul, thou art wooed in deceit planted
For she through the milk of hman kindness,
patiently tends to her wounds and gashes
Say not thou loveth such a kind soul,
For tis thy insecurity and iniquitous soul
Thath lie and dishonor Loves true flame
and maketh thy grave in bane.
by Poet Shanika Marini Paul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem