How old are you – often I leave,
Often with the terrific breeze –
And remember I was laid –
With unshakable, faith to seize.
Once in a innocent morning,
Heard, upon my old forts –
Breaking, to least boundary of mine –
Embroiled, more often with song passing,
No more to us, alone we are –
And rest of world slept to dismay –
Looking to her lilt in solitude,
“Numbered never, or it was deserted? ”
Be it the dark, he splits,
Ever in massive folk of lie –
To push into the wrong truths,
Never I run after –solace by the day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem