The Beloved stands before me
Smiling, in possession of my soul
The eyes radiant, the shimmering lips
Eyes the mirror of the soul
A soul that is unblemished, pure
An innocence that radiates from within
A simplicity that would shame a pauper
The wave of the hand, the slow wave of the hand
I steal a final glance
And the image lingers on till I reach home
Follows me like a shadow
And returns forcefully after months, after years
Oh, the Beloved shall never know
The Beloved shall never know
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem