There is a Black pal, my
Visitor regular, cool and calm.
In my balcony, its abode of
Grain or rain, it visits my
Perambulations profoundly strain,
If Black were to be a curse,
Woe to the Creator’s paradigm of
Release and hearse.
If colour were to be
A conscious matter of grouse,
Hollering would annoyingly increase.
Deliverance is too far,
Even now, for it is intricate,
it is manmade
aggrandisement.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem