Along the blink and mettle,
In the flagstone of life, I stood,
Weaving myself with anticipation.
The sonic clock coerced me,
To grew jaded in his whims.
I leaned in the stanchion of hope,
My age seemed breathless
As the nostalgias mount the greens.
The conceived promises flied,
In the wildness of lost air.
My life in its brim,
I kept standing with troth,
Time made me grow to die,
The stanchions are in ruins.
My breathes turned gray.
Rosy nostalgias still mounts
Like a vine in my veins,
But the promises are soaked
And the air is too dry to fly...! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My age seemed breathless As the nostalgias mount the greens. The conceived promises flied, In the wildness of lost air. My life in its brim, I kept standing with troth, Time made me grow to die, Beautiful poem with so lovely lines. Thanks for sharing it.10++ for it. Subhas