I have gone to places, where the snow covers,
the breasts of the mountains, the modest display,
the glaring light loses all its salivating colors,
across the marble of Globe, there is no peace,
the grass lands serpents start to have bunkers,
ravines are strewn with litters of match boxes,
I sit as the yogi doing all written in the scripts,
there is no peace, where ever I walk alone,
in the dungeons, smoke hides the clarity of thoughts,
a few boast to have got beatified at the feet of frauds,
curves at the places where there is demolition soon,
wandering in the unknown heaven smelling disinfectants,
the cloud horses race at the height to pour as the rain,
the clapping thunders silenced to announce the pain,
I still roam in the streets of numbered and named destination,
the persons touch my shoulders, in whom my salvation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem