The hatred of exile in him
Slowly turned
To love of exile
Through pain and suffering
And sleeping in cold nights
And drenched under the trees
And startled with the roars of thunder
Fingers of light
The dark inhabitants to and fro
Of pitch black nights
Their hidden heads and masks
And gazing into starry nights
And chasing the weak rays
Of moon along palisades of dom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem