In the silence between notes and tears,
A poet rose — with heart sincere.
Not to echo fame or chase acclaim,
But to honor sorrow, soul, and flame.
P. A. Noushad, with words so still,
Touched chords no melody could fill.
He wove Imelda's aching song
Into a verse where hearts belong.
Through mystic light and shadowed grace,
He gave black tears a sacred place —
Where grief could speak, and beauty stay,
Long after all had looked away.
This poem is not just rhyme or line,
But a lantern lit by hands divine.
It journeys now through sky and screen,
A quiet fire in the world unseen.
So let it burn, so let it breathe —
For those who feel, for those who grieve.
A gift from one who dared to see
The music in our memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
"So let it burn, so let it breathe"