O Darhiyal, how are you,
When asked I? ,
He kept mum,
Said he not,
Again when enquired I about,
Smiled he
Keeping his hands on the beards,
Black beards
And it is his smiles,
Smiles cracking upon, beaming upon the lips
Which let me take the breath
Otherwise it would wreaked havoc
And he taking it differently
To retort and show hisanger
But the satisfaction lies it in to think
He is not an angry young man,
But a genteel one, a very, very genteel one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem