Concave convex prisms slips of mind
Easily forgotten shadowed slowly creeping
Sometimes in a tear sometimes in a smile
Prerequisite vague visage coloured
Sprinkling window panes
Of eyes both closed and open
Things navelled in the centre of the womb
Boiling in passion rendered into a word
The call themselves unwritten poems
Writing a lightening upon a palm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem