That which can ply
Over land or can fly in the air…
And that which can walk in the prose
Or sparkles in rhymes is a poem.
The fire which ignites on collision,
Often rides up with wings and dies off in silence.
The thing which appears in the right eye
Looks different in the left;
Is that a parallax?
From the bottom-rack of attic
With pages degraded it crumbles and often with layers of dust blown out
It smiles …. Poetry is a phenomenon that works silently
In the transmission of emotion
By overcoming all the ups and downs
In the time of poet
In to a world free from linguistic barrier
and under an evergreen tree…
Dated: 25-08-2018.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem