Prisoner of a moment’s truth, am I?
The Sun rises in the East, and drenches
The green foliage, even underside, in light.
Once having said or thought some thing
I tend to repeat that so many times after,
That it appears like the permanent truth.
No, but every day it is a new and different sunrise
And like worshippers of Rk Veda, centuries ago,
May we be surprised that the Sun has risen today too!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem