O dearest soul, dost thou yet truly know
Why love's pure flame within my breast doth burn?
Thou art the spring from which my musings flow,
The star whose light bids weary dreams return.
Thou art the muse that stirs my slumb'ring mind,
The rose that blooms amidst life's thornèd way;
In thee, the hues of passion bright I find,
Thy touch transforms my night to golden day.
Thou art the lark whose song doth lift my soul,
A moon that silvers darkened thoughts with grace.
Thy love, a healing balm that makes me whole,
A vision fair no time can e'er erase.
Thou art the breath that gives my verses flight—
The heart's own fire, my ever-burning light.
By Dipankar Sadhukhan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem