Moon is so jealous
Never says,
“Arjyaneela, your beauty is my light.”
Cool wind too
Has never been so soothing
Soprano to my ears - as your mezzo
Flowers are not my motif
As your opaline eyes are my muse
Could be the raining cloud
like your panicle hair
Sprigged muslin
in your silhouette
gleams like luminous stars
Pavane I see never
any ocean can play
as your dupatta does
The pride of sundown even buzzes off
your cinnabar bindi
like an asphodel
when it blooms on your forehead
If so transcendental you are
what else can be my be canto
except 'loving you death unto'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem