early morning
at Park Road
the diaspora-clouds hang
and the cold, thin rain drops on the deserted road
and some jump off the few raised umbrellas;
a mynah flits across to a branch
and finds a comfy spot below
the dancer-palm leaves;
and across, on the other side,
right before the ATM,
the cloud-abundant leaves held above
wave, and glisten
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hello Raj, nice, nice, nice.