In the stillness of the night,
The lake was drinking the moon.
Though shattered, he was not crying,
His eyes just glistened with a mist.
She was his world and bereft her,
It meant nothing to live.
Slowly he got up,
And with a sweep of charcoal,
Wrote in bold on the shabby hoarding,
‘I MISS YOU'.
Then he went into the water.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem