Sitting on the armchair,
On the swings with the-
melancholy of the silence.
I opened my eyes to the
darkness piercing through the air.
Nothing moved or nothing mewed!
cheeraping of the nightingale near or
did the wind bought the voice?
I know not, for darkness is all!
Upon the swing, the stars
poured the light with
picturesque stillness of the picasso's.
Dripping down the sky,
drops of dew,
washed the depraved face.
Untouched! untouchable forever
the night goes on and on....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beauty of a poem, , , ,