Lulled I was by her beauty,
The sweet singing birds,
The moon dancing with her,
Desire she wants to quench,
Starvation and ache I carry:
Scotching was a mountain to climb,
As, we both belonged to others.
So, though mournfully toiling,
Heart churning with choices:
Of home and its homelessness,
Of life since lost in a maze;
Of drapery, aimless vigor;
Of icy affectionate habit,
I fled her sight; back to home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem