A worn out diary breathes in my chest
It carries billions of words
Yet it never wept.
The rhythm of falling rain
Soothes the hollow veins
In which no blood rests.
How to kill the roots without hurting the leaves?
Million of questions are embedded in it.
How to rinse off the walls of skull
Without peeling off the skin?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem