In the bright morning,
With the sun blazing
Overhead,
With white clouds,
Giving a chequered pattern
To the sky
Looking up
Pensively,
Feeling ambivalences
As beads of perspiration
Dripped down her neck.
As the sky darkened,
So did her expression,
As thoughts raced through her mind,
Grinding to a halt at one.
That made her bristle,
With anger.
Someone scratched her car,
That morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem