Desolate dawn 
Where is the sharpness of the knife that used to cut us sweet, 
Have the stones gone soft or our hearts grown into damp wood 
Could we not bring that spark which we used to have in our hug , 
Where gone those passions rich and glowing, could not we renew 
Them again? The wind is very harsh now and nights are nasty cruel.
Where is the raw smell of the roses which used to make us mad 
Has it gone down floating with the stream of time or blown into 
The wind, could not we reverse the flow, those emotions strong 
And   profound, could not we grow them again? The bed is very 
Cold and the nights are too long
Where is the sun where is the breeze once who used to sway 
The flowers in my garden and I meet with my moon, where gone 
Those days grand and glorious when all bow their head and roll 
at the feet of my handsomeness? 
if life were a dream, this state I would never choose, I would live 
to love, would be  young  forever and always remain proud and 
never allowed nights to break into a desolate  dawn and lose.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem