Santosh Mahaldar
The Daughter of the Earth
It is dead night, the poet is now sleeping.
Oh dear pain, you take shelter in my body.
She is a sick rose who desires some rain.
The cuckoo birds of dawn are calling,
now open your eyes.
The plants are dancing once again,
The white Hawthorne of spring is blooming,
They yearn for your delicate touch,
Get well soon! the daughter of the earth.
No comments:
Post a Comment