That day is the day with rebound of joy.
She waited as I told, and had my call.
The same flavour was in her talk, I saw.
Her love hasn’t gone stale by time and space.
To love out of contest, one is contrite.
To leave any evidence, one is afraid.
The stage of guilt, she has passed.
The stage of qualm she is yet to pass.
Whether the qualm withers or not
Let the summer come to wilt it out.
30.09.2000, Madras
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem