The garden was in glee
In mirth were the bumblebees
None knows what came about in suddenness—
The gardener stopped showing up;
The flowers became captives.
Leaving behind a sad cadence,
The bumblebees went away
To make another garden their resort.
Far away, in a crevice on a coffin
The familiar portrait of the gardener
From his neck, there hangs a garland,
Made from the same flowers, now devoid of life.
My being somber
Is no guarantee to everyone’s wellbeing.
Leaving behind the lamp at home
As I tried to get hold of the far-off moon
I happened to force a separation
Of the tears from the eyes.
In the past,
When we possessed by an awareness
Of a love-laden touch
Inspiring a brand new creation
We got it arrayed on a paper
And named it a ‘poem’.
We pick a gush of rage
From the newspapers
And force-land it on a page
And give it a fake name: ‘Poem’!
यसलाई जीवित राख्नकोलागि तपाइँको
आर्थिक सहयोग महत्वपूर्ण हुन्छ ।