Night after night clouds scrubbed her face
to erase an etched scar causing a strange grimace
of pitiable pain inflicted by a fierce macho Sun
that her insides in fury of vengeful rays tried to burn
as if in a resolve to turn her into a spray of ashes
on the face of the sky without strength to return,
when stars came to her rescue with a suggestion
‘Why don't you that letter of love to the Sun not return? '
The Moon smiled and said ‘What shall I return
when its words of entreat have been defaced by my tears
shed in lonely nights of my estranged love
and by drops oozing from wounds of deep hurts? '
She has learnt to live with the scar that shows her love
with memories of sweet moments dangling
like bats from boughs in earth's treasure trove;
but the mad clouds believe
one day she will be without the blemish of tainted love
and she will dazzle as the bright white dove!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Clouds scrub her face as moon appears at night. But estranged love oozes from wounded hurts. But moon dazzles with love in calmness. Moon is a bright white dove. Your imagery is excellent and imagination is highly appreciated. An excellent poem is shared here...10