The lonely bird stares at the blank sky-
Questioning his lord -when shall you find-
The voice- eluding this sacred tune,
Brimming with distant pain, drifting wind!
In Spring bloom, this heart looks vacuum
To find its utterances, when you arrive,
When the world around me disappears to rest-
Matches this absence from the crown, drive!
And the bird, from one branch to another-
Walks the thorny stairs, dreaded leaves,
In conviction to see the holy muse happy, coming-
Lifting this shaken spirit- tune, oneself she weaves!
On opposite branch, twigs wear his best creation,
Awake in endless quest-when shall you come-
In flawless music of spring - pensive rhythm of drizzle,
To dreary cruel sun, over crystal clouds roam!
Over the horizon-rises the bird to crescent-silver moon,
While his muted nerves discover their lasting fire
When this song finds its voice- dearth, long sedate -
In tender sweep, her lustrous eyes, bright-smile-whisper!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Verily, the search and inquisition goes. beyond the paranormality A good write