Thread-like rain waters my lawn with a humid chatter,
Breathing, in return, the smell of my sleeping soil
A rose bud graced in shiny drops glitters with pride
A tiny bird with wet wings tries to sing its grievances out.
An ever-miserable mist lingers in an unseen playground,
Hoping to wipe out the stain of old maladies
Still, feigning slumber, smiles the gorgeous sun,
Wrapping his face in a blurred blanket.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem