Blowing is the tune of mad winds,
Drashing is the tune of cruel waves,
Crying of a baby in some agony,
Thus the tune of poem behaves.
Singing of bird in the vast heaven,
Isn't that tune every is crazy even!
How the flower bestow their sweet fragrance,
In an unending legend.
Whistling of train at some old hued station,
Roaring of thunder or dancing light on broken glass,
Thus this way there are infinite in doom,
Which have their own tune.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love it! Thanks Keep posting .......................