During my monologue in the darkened nights,
when the house lizards have gone ans asleep,
The roads are deserted to be with xenon bulbs,
what do you think, hearing all those blabbers?
During the rehearsal as well as in action,
just in front of your altar, full of pinned roses,
sweet smelling jasmines gathered as the garlands,
what do you think, hearing all my pleadings?
The empty wall may have the pictures and the statues,
where you are glued with the affliction of mankind,
a born beggar, sourcing everything from the barn,
what do you think, hearing my complaints after the burps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
empty walls may have the pictures.. very true with so many meanings..