The lake-'Dal',
time before,
was full of joy, mirth and laughter
in whose murmur sounds;
life could be felt.
The waters,
which swept away
the lands,
of all grief and misery.
Come to the window,
melodious is the night itself,
listen! you hear the murmur
of the life in it?
The sounds that
rise and fall
and then cease to begin.
With grimmy cadence,
it brings along melancholy
of despair in.
Do you sense the pain in it?
The retreating back of its waters,
the wailing roar, I do hear;
then the sound fades,
like the wanning moon.
The lake of dreams,
viewed before me,
a fairytale ~all fabricated and never true;
the sudden ebb in its charm
narrates me the tale of the world,
that exists to be,
so beautiful,
so unreal,
so broken,
so happy;
the world, my dear,
doth have; joy, peace, merry-making,
but all in 'tangled threads'.
Search for certitude,
and be lost away
in the threads of fantasies.
We're tangled up in a fake world,
where beauty seems an illusion.
But now I see the Dal,
it no more lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful words.