Your frozen words float
like flakes
falling from invisible lips.
Aimlessly I would
pick up the yearnings
trying to caress me.
Talking to me in
hushed tones, to give a
tang of silence and release.
The otherness, like a
silvery spider's web invites.
You wait at the edge, pondering―
To walk in or not. You
bite your tongue, cannot move.
There were suicides.
The cadavers talk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The history books lining the library shelves, spines out, faces hidden, keep their stories locked in darkness. The words huddle together, barely breathing in the confined spaces lacking oxygen. Let fire come, bringing light, it will come only slowly. Its fingers will be clumsy with cold. At first...