I try to peel the blue
but it still is the corpus of the space.
try too in vain to bark
your lippy mouth to wing out smiles
and
I retrieve my breath from
the thickest night of tumble and torture
of poetic ecstasy in your love.
I chisel out a fringe of sweet music
'Tell me..my sweet
Throw your lyre on me
The heaviest hours will melt on me
Speak Speak oh my Sweet heart.'
'Hi.enough..enough the time's o'er
Come in the morning..'
the man in the guard of mortuary
pulls the shutters down.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -Ruthraa Paramasivan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem