The poet, bent over the paper, ink-brush in hand,
carefully defining poetry for his pupils
did not see the first stork of the Spring
in the limitless blue sky,
a new poem in its beak
I like your poem. It carries a beautiful thought............cheers. Gaurav.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear Sir, Your poem is old wine, that only a few know the true taste. It give a new painting to artists, a new song to singers, and a deep meaning to wise ears. Be well with all my best wishes!