I count the time for me
Every day when the first ray
Of the mild sun strikes my wall;
Pushing the blanket to the sides
I rush to the calendar
Hanging from wall and fluttering
Like a dying bird in the morning breeze;
To strike out the date; gone;
With the pen gifted by my father
When I rose taller than him
One fine morning and talked
With him in a rough voice.
It has always been like that-
Disabling the date;
That should turn into me
And hide under my bed
To trouble me when I am
Having good time in my dream
Hugging the pillow tight
To my chest and kissing the fairy.
I find the bed wet
With heat of youth;
The calendar gets thinner
With new faces adorning the wall.
The calendar gets thinner With new faces adorning the wall. my favorite lines, Tiku, in this wonderful poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem...The way you have presented is beautiful..I loved reading it.