It was a fascinating night
like albino children playing in park.
I was gazing at sky.
The years have gone by one by one.
I am still walking on dead leaves
refusing the fruits.
This was me, no urge, no need,
the leather worn out but
feet are intact.
A continous civil war among the windows
suffers the grace. Stupidities of house.
You collect the garbage whole life
and when time comes to depart,
make a bonfire of your winnings.
We are ageing like wall paper
and talking to doors. The guest
is coming at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a good poem. you have put together nicly your scattered thoughts in these beautiful lines.