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The small dark rooms,
And the great halls,
Are just alike,
That stole my sunny days,
Never to return back even once.
Angry and worn-out,
A mere bundle of bones,
I lie here,
Fallen and grief stricken.
Wines, fish and food,
I loved them most,
And a good sleep to my heart’s desire,
And I thought no more.
The curse of the immoral days,
Burn me right day and night,
The greatest treasure of my youth,
I lost them mid-way.
My gray days make me sore,
And I look at the rising sun,
The only fabric of my hope,
That reassures me with radiant warmth.
I believe it is not just a ball of fire,
But a most splendid thing,
Absolutely generous,
That glorifies the earth,
With all its skill.
It is real love affair like,
And I watch it flourish,
Day-time, at dawn and dusk,
Bringing a heavenly religious order.
I hear the birds chirp,
I see the grassy lands and the cattle,
The butterflies, the roses and the tulips,
The magnificence is unbelieving.
It is all so wonderful,
Everything is bewitching,
The excellence of seasons,
The glory of rains,
The blossom of the spring-time,
It is all so awesome.
I wish I were young again,
And go to woods or distant seas,
And watch the sunset over those hills,
Sitting under a grove of trees,
And never be stupid again,
Even if I lived only for a day.
