Moving into the warmth of day
I feel rejuvenated to act in the play
He is going to direct as His habit
A character, in love, in its twilight
Know not I what dialogue to deliver next
What action to be done, in what pretext
Each moment bears an eerie suspense
Thought lifts my soul, often makes me tense
Half the way is already travelled
Crushed hills, at the strength marvelled
Heart gets heavy for frequent cuts
Hope lies low for many unsavoury blots
Can’t change the script for better
Pain or joy, what does it matter?
Would feel happy only if He does wish
To direct my act to a happy finish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem