When our tears are as dry as a
desert,
and our mind as shallow as a lake
and our laughter no longer receding
at night.
and our thoughts too biased
there shall still be hope
for the communion which we shared
and the festival of oneness
which we were part of.
There shall still be a legendary
watchman
who stands at the cemetery door
and send away mourners
it can never be the late night sound
that lingers through our thought
and mind
it is the sound of our forgotten friends
who once shared with us
the festival of oneness
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very well done. I really like the flow here.