The gardener in me is a fool,
always winks at the fragrant,
flowers; though destined only one.
mowing lawn and pruning dawn.
the gardener in me is a liar,
always says something nicer,
cutting sprouting desires,
hiding under the earthly matters,
the gardener in me is a crook,
always gives me the hopeless shocks,
pumping heart is the accomplice,
both work together as the thieves,
the gardener in me is a kid,
always likes to play with bubbles,
of wants; mostly witnessed the burst,
sometimes gazed at the lollypops as the buds,
the gardener in me is a hard worker,
holding the hoes and pulling the ropes,
the igniting spark sometimes fail,
the rotating blades do their jobs,
the gardener in me always on alert,
as the soldier in the heavy battle ground,
not trusting the foes sometimes friends,
sprays the pesticide with no mercy or love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem