The tired brain is not working,
Still it is working
For the great traveller
Of my wonderful poetic vision,
He is the traveller.....the ideal traveller,
Who is constantly travelling in search
Of the hidden truth
In the vast atmosphere,
The sun sets,
Slowly the dark evening casts its spell,
But the weary pilgrim goes on
With his tired brain
Till the end,
He is the true traveller, the unique traveller
Who appears only in my enlightened dream
With his insatiable desire for knowledge,
And he enriches my sublime inner self,
I adore him with my heart's content.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem