Moving back to the edge of the pit
From here, if fallen
Clop of the rain-drops, can't be heard
If fallen
The core right
Burns myself
The dry Palash at the end of the spring
Tramp with reluctance
Daily day
Palash is praised at this ground
Thereafter
The beauty of the forest shines
And illuminates the world, unthinkingly
On this amazing corporal wings
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem