Sounds fall into two categories
Some of miseries, some of luxuries.
The space of Time is filled with such sounds
Sometimes laughter, sometimes shriek resounds.
Noise or silence may it seem to be heard
But without meanings they are absurd.
Traffic horns or rustling corns when wind blows
Some tension, some mention nightingale shows.
The thundering clouds utter dangerous noise
To the core are frightened foolish and wise.
Vowel sounds pierce into heart and soul
In composing cries they play their role.
Vowel sounds have wings to fly up to sky
Replete with sorrow, they give birth to sigh.
Vowel sounds surround the poor masses
Who are guilty in most of worldly cases.
Poor vowels serve rich consonants to do
Things of all types often wrong seldom true.
Vowels lift their palms up in prayer
To get rid of consonants' torture.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting and enjoyable read. Very interesting poet's note also.