Hues of red on the faraway sun,
Beaten still with the dawn,
Prowling wisps of white pulled off,
The stage by a hand stronger,
Scenes beautiful on the view,
Cocks on the shivering roofs,
Croaking away to a happy morning,
A sleepy toddler struggling with mother,
An early bird off to the far fields,
A lady a well cranking away,
Heavy on a pot empty of water,
Old men chat at the village square,
Over the steam of their coffee,
Music akin to a myth, from the shrine,
Bells toll away to the too gentle hands,
Insects of the night scurry past humans,
To their abodes again to wear a mask,
Of impunity in the day to arrive,
Mother nature washing away the sins,
Of a night unknown nudging a sleepy human,
Awake to bear him again with patience,
Whence the hues of red turn white with a
Smile benign.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem