Something looked like coming to an end
When the weather turned personal
Though a storm named after a woman
Raged outside the window
Looking like wanting to lower
All monsoon rainfall records
Or even go on a tree-felling spree
Inside it was hot summer
Reaching for a cold shower
Sometimes the cyclone entered the head
When all was serene across the road
Left the subject cowering on the bed
It was a rush of seasons
As if the body was on fast-forward
Flashing through the dry, wet months
All in a day, tides shifting madly, hourly
Something looked like coming to an end
Something looked like fighting till the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem