When it rains, it pours,
And trickles down the leaves.
With a bitter cry, the skies open
Unearthing the weightless dirt
In Titanic tears
The 'guilded' springly turfs,
Submerged in the amaranthine teardrops.
While the monsoon Savannah
Stands tall, unswerving,
Through the surge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem