Fragile calm almost
breaks the silent voice
of dead glow warm
felled by full moon.
There was nothing left
to write about darkness.
Sometimes I don't
understand you in vacant
looks. Weightless you
fly away.
Golden dew drops fall briefly
on hot iron, steamed and
misunderstood.
You are the lust listener
living in wax house. I will not light
the candles for fear of
burning the nest.
The deaf cuckoo
goes on singing with out hearing
his voice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
considerate and well-considered Satish