The great author gives up writing,
He is tired of it,
But he does not get peace and rest in mind,
As he always feels someone is calling him earnestly,
Towards his bosom,
Just as a loving mother attracts her little child
Towards her soft and secure lap.
The famous writer meditates deeply for a long time,
Then he realizes in his serene mind that it is the refined world of writing,
Which is inviting him affectionately to write,
So he does not waste his time,
He begins to depict again in full swing
And the creative world too smiles with great ease and delight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice prosaic poetry Glad ur now upcoming keep swinging AR