A morning surreal
not of words flawed
or ideal...
But faintly discern I could
in dayspring's atypical ambiance.
The breeze kept its pace
benumbing my winter ravaged face,
but new that can be seen by few
in a transient world of
transient countenances!
burden not of this world
but in psyche's mischief
snared in thoughts
haphazardly knotted!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem