Under the indescribable skies
standing,
wondering at the incomplete accounts
of the untold stories
the flow will stay at birth,
the grip on the thoughts is lost somewhere;
standing,
panting,
stumbling upon the unbelievable earth
the words die a pre-natal death,
and the case of not very easy breaths,
the tales of the suffering souls
of every description
and definition,
the ones who are everything which i am not;
little reflection, and the fall everywhere;
the undone rimes on a rose-petal,
the unsung songs for the rain birds
locked up in a blood clot or clots
somewhere inside the suspended stream,
what is there is a sense of loss
for the pen uncapped,
and the dried ink,
and the page left all blank...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Haven't I painted my own void on the white canvas? ...
given you 6/10 and use no words to describe the quality of the poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very heart touching poem...keep writing....