standing tall, straight a sculptic beauty
nail to nip, skull to scale
looking far to feel something
not to cash or to crease special status
whatever the beauty needs
my feet rushing restless
at least heart-throbs beyond metres
to crawl that buttering mountain
sleek and to lick moments of death or life endless
so stout the peaks and peasantry
so smooth the surface and sanitation
only poet could jump fibred prolification
to climb the last trip before avalanche
God can't escape such tannery He tuned
just moment was high to make me imprisoned
a joy made her feel someone stabbing the pelvic
killing by honor trapped by beauty
silent robbing the volt of treasury
only smiled arrogant the living sculpture
not to rain
but to burn by flame her eyes laughed
invite not
simply to demonstrate
fire crazy and stored within
God can't escape
how the poet....!
Pranab k c
24/02/2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem