The sacred verses of the prophet-seer
Hide in their garbs the symbols of his lust
His failings so to say if so can they
Be called: the desperate call
And bite of the despairing bird;
The lull of lazy afternoons;
The glory of the mid-day sun in red;
The orange of declining sun
Falling despondently into the frowning seas;
The wind, the air, the waters, the fire,
The sacred verses of the prophet seer
In them encapsulate: in their lines
And words the seed
Of hope from the despondent cry
From the pain and paralysis
The Poet-Seer suffered in the nursing-home:
The strange and raw verses cry and weep
Like to a bleeding heart in the nursing home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem