Like an aging nutch girl, the lone candle
flickered for a few seconds and died…
The smoke, unwillingly uncoiling,
rises a few inches from the dead wick
and vanishes in the freezing air
like the feverish tail of terrified serpent…
Cricket lovers and midnight revelers
have no time for anger;
but I need a ton of those
strong, sturdy and lasting
like their Denims …
Oh…my people…my people…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An awesome poem on anger effects.