The night has spread a sheet
On the shrine of silence,
The falling fruit of neem is producing the Raag of Bhatyar while hitting the roof of clay-tiles;
On the camps of moonlight,
The wind has invaded,
The ornaments of memories
Kept are falling in the courtyard.
Countless!
Frail moments are opening the windows of drained eyes;
Time and again!
The Rider-moments sitting in front of the threshold wait for the arrival of some Dear One.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem