An unknown maiden reaps every harvest in the paddy field of my dreams
Her face is concealed by the veil of time,
As days pass traces of her features are slowly revealed
The wind seems to keep whispering her many names
Her eternal presence keeps giving me a purpose to live;
In my dreams nightingales are parrots which imitate her voice
In my world the sun seems to mirror the radiance of her face,
I keep winding the needle of my days trying to reach her
All her ornaments jingle in union as the music which inspires me to write;
My dreams are haunted by her lovely dark eyes
Even my sleepless hours are possessed by my day dreams about her,
Every day the artist in me keeps colouring her in the canvas of my mind
The poet in me keeps describing her many features in verse
The sculptor in me keeps trying to etch her permanent image out of the wax of my dreams;
Alas time has to pursue its course,
I keep piling all my harvest for that very day
I remain alive for just that day when she will be unveiled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem