I've two rooms and a portico,
followed by green, grey and blue,
sea of air, heat and cold.
Part time job and college coexist.
Faces, smile, argument, pub.
Two rooms held my mirror image.
Dresses are strewn,
cups and plates seek wings,
a bouquet may break my monotony.
The bouquet now spreads colour and love
never withers away,
everything is tidy and tuneful.
Hues and tunes do not last long,
habit eats up days and nights,
monotony of heat and cold makes m.e numb.
A thousand needles prick me on.
At last the southern wind runs through me,
a bouquet may break my monotony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem