The moment suffices as it passes
Towards the past or amnesia;
That moment of awakening
Into another dream or trance,
A continent of Otherdom.
In our consensual world
We give names to things;
Trees, rivers, roads, even folk
Exist from agreed nomination.
Here the optics of our lingos
Diverge and multiply like clouds,
Clinging to the misty hill crest,
Dispersing into songs unheard.
The Future is history before it happened,
Foretold by Sibylline interpreters. Awaken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
sispersing into songs unheard, fine words.
Dear Poet Gajajan Mishra, I am sincerely grateful that a countryman and author has read my contribution to PH and bothered to convey encouragement to me. Best wishes for your wellness and success. AM