I can't sleep

sweetheart,

Put your head on this chest

Can you hear anything?

On the day of Baisakh, the storm rages

This is going on in the chest

All the decorated gardens are floating

Old address is disappearing

The only shelter is the dear hut.

I only had that piece of support

And I have nothing,

Even then, how can you say?

I admit---

I have no money, no money

You know poets don't have these things

If the poets drowned in wealth

Then poetry does not come,

I want absolute poverty for poetry.

You held my hand knowing that

You were wrapped in the moon of love

But what is the cause of this storm today?

I will assume then

You also fell in love with the poet's poetry

Not in love with the poet?

I have no complaints

just a little trouble

I cannot sleep in this raging storm

Day or night, or at any other time.