Age has brought a pensive thought,
Flying like obscure bats at evening hour
And invoking short commemoration of happy years
Coming out one by one like nights parading lights
Removing hearts forlorn glacier.
Then comes brief loitering on shaking earth,
Where dominating thought of sudden demise
Along such indeterminate air brings prayer
For another birth, certainly not on Adams right.
Lofty head looks apart to indifferent sky,
Containing many hidden desires of life
Which never find celestial light
Before growing too unfit in life cauldron.
Still a meek wish pine to dredge the depth
Of avoiding joys looking asphalt,
Building a lengthy way to nowhere.
Bold Moon carries faint hopes; nimble wind disperses them
In silent mode touching the napping soul,
Sleepy in playing hour like nights drowsy flowers,
Forsaken by sweeten ember of love, scentless.
Shapeless sorrows again on wings of dimly owls,
Shuffling woes in shrill pass,
Covering the slighted face with sighs endless,
Heaping cries abounding on self drawn grave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem