The concrete world rails at a love-sick
That pines away in a swampy threnody;
At his French leave leisure
Away from the quay and bustling harbor
Like calm mute quadruped
He ruminates over the ancient serenade.
Shedding sorrow in form of tears fails;
It fails to exhume all the buried cheers.
Now he fidgets with a string of rosary
The heavy beads cry out for the final mercy!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem