The world outside, a dark room of water,
quiet and unbearably bleak.
Movement limited to the grey tides
I blink the blurry scene away.
April this morning is not the
Sporadic showers predicted
No, it is a tiring deluge.
Grimy roof-slates expel
there waterfalls, slippy,
amphibious trees drink the sky.
Flood-like volleys of clouds
poised, heavy as guilt.
Too encase us in a
Light less underworld.
Curb side drains, steel mouth-holes,
gulp the slithering torrent.
The road is a lamp lit
April’s waterlogged brume sweeps clean
the streets below. And I shrink
Down with the world,
Contented to sleep…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
nice imagery and observation indeed