Not a great work,
other than this act of dying!
To make an end of a beginning—
this, a journey, woven with shadows and light,
simmering all through. A planetary vision hovers
all around. Lonely are the stars and clouds,
Can a constellation be happy?
Night spreads its wings gently and softly.
(Quaid - Uz- Zaman)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem