Once gifted you
Frantic flowers
of my youthful-days' garden,
Not being induced
But with full knowledge and belief;
Then myself not satisfied with that,
I have to bestow more….
It is the high time
While the world little by little
Attaining emancipation
Please accept my stratified night-rock,
Till unturned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem