Who's waiting?
there's no one here;
this room's got vacated,
some time back;
the spring nearby,
cried nights and dried;
seems, wind beat the grass
blue and black.
Who's seeking?
vision helplessly ran
through that leading road
and came back
empty hand.
the Sun,
that once shone
has shifted to a new horizon
with the Moon
diving in the ocean
and the stars taking refuge
on trees of no land.
These flowers?
they're wild, they've no clue
to the things happening around;
they insist
they bloom..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
stunningly haunting.....the deeply entrenched and resident message is clear to a feeling heart.... some flowers never bloom under the perma frost of a wasteland called tundra....... under the haunting shadows of the mighty Himalayas....! ! ! loved it....superb.. ***