Old poet,
Ancient mind,
Gone long ago
Still present now.
Seen no more
Yet a fresh teacher
Lived in the ancient
Having modern mind
Wrote with feather pens
Under the old bushel
Still the lines are fresh
Those indelible ink of yours
Are still flowing afresh
Like a fragrace in the rain
They are the riches left behind
That no material can equal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Just love this, Aremu. Those written in dim lights and through feather pens are still flowing in fragrance and giving clear and resounding message of life.