In the dark canvas of the sky,
we envisage
the grandeur of the rising sun.
Dawn(!)
a primordial thrill
invites us to a hilltop.
With hearts brimming with confidence
we conglomerate
for the morning symphony.
Away from the Tower of Babel,
dreams reach the sky.
The sun appears
with no wrath of God.
Bliss of splendid flowers;
drizzle over the valley.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem