Shakuntala, let me confess,
Miserably I fail to compose
A poem on you.
Oh Ganges of love!
I have sunk deep down,
And go further down
When I see you smiling,
Or giggling or staring
At the sky or playing with the deer.
Oh deer! Had I been a deer,
Could you stay away from me?
I would have sprung around,
And pulled you near,
With the edge of your attire
In my mouth.
My soulful poetry!
Tell me not to write a
poetry on this plant of love,
(Which is) more wonderful
Than this wonderful world.
Shakuntala, I confess,
I am paralysed, intoxicated
And obsessed,
In the vast stretch of green,
With orchards behind,
the Sun rising, breeze kissing
In the Gardens of Eden.
Now, I have slipped into
A state of coma ecstatic,
Shut the door. None is allowed
To disturb my obsession
With Shakuntala, My
Poetry, the ultimate and eternal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem