The continuous void
Of untamed action
Controlled by virtue of birth
Hidden pleasures, unheard voice
And a fragmented desolation
From what could be the mother
: The joyous perpetual death.
Life: merely a discontinuity
Of the endless continuum
That terminates in another realm
Of thought, process and activity
Unremembered now with the break
Called life
But only for a short time
Till we return
To our world
From this futile strife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Udita. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.