A poem is born in a moment
After hours of sweat and labour
A creation of continuous process and toil
As a sudden revelation, an inspiration.
It may occur when you never expect it
A flash of lightening come and gone
Before you know – a shocking action
The bitter taste of joy and pain together mixed
The impact may materialize the thought at once
Else its distorted ghost may appear while you rest.
A poem has no structure, it flows and takes
The shape of the mind which moulds it.
Over flowing emotions flow over paper sometimes
Else, they are distilled and sparkling bright
Poured out, much later as desert streams.
A poem may gush out with an overflow of emotions
Like a torrentious, ragged water-fall
Or gently murmur by as an undulating stream
When you are laid in a trance like dream.
A stream is never ever-gentle
It too overflows its banks!
Feelings flowing fast finds way
Fathoms deep in mind, can they not
Gush out as springs, cross hills and vales
Torn as torrents, calmly run later
- Gentle as streams?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem