I sit under a pipal Tree.
As the wind rustles its symphony.
The applause gently sways down,
Crisp fulfilled, as new as your youth in bloom,
It covers me, I love its tender kiss of times,
They enliven the folds on the bed of my mind.
And when I twist and turn in serene ecstasy,
They gently murmur me your lullaby.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem