My child little aggressive in the cradle
and I know one day she jumps over the fence,
She cries with her nappy rash
and it's kind of poetry?
After seeing the outer green
Her excrements in green
She absorbed the colours.
Her farts like harmless bombs!
When she crawls I give my hand
to get up.
She learned faster in the University
and chosen her partner too.
As an adult she's busy with her offspring.
This old man became a child and helpless
and when I crawl hardly with my bedsores
Hope you give me your strong hand to bring me up
in a sense of timeless running along this sojourn?
to my poet friend John Thomas Tharayil in gratitude!
nimal dunuhinga
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem