He is kissing with his fiery lips
Drinking every bit of natures saliva
Cotton wisps flying languidly
The flies persistent with their irritating buzzzz
The fan with its musical whirring noise
Who needs ragas?
Haze of dust mist giving a romantic twist
Dont complain
If I dont call
If I dont come out
Theres room for only one romance
With the Sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sounds like you were ensconced in a tingling sunbathe, on the 22nd floor of a Park Avenue Penthouse, on the Upper-Eastside of Manhattan....on a burnt august noontide....Like this a lot.my dear....Your work, always impresses, and just gets better & better...Your employment of darting imagery is profound & so depictive... FjR