Having adorned them with words before
I flung my pen to the sorority of clouds
and stood beneath for a repay in verse.
Fearing solitude, addiction and perhaps
madness most of these extroverts slipped
away citing reasons of duty and time.
While some slyly waited for the dark,
others scratched their heads for words,
convoluted, then separated and died.
To hint and interest them on metaphors
I stood still, circled, walked on four legs,
and even briefly wiggled on the ground.
As light began to devour its dessert
just one escaped the magician's hat
and appeared determined to write.
Now this cloud has been standing there
for months, changing to a moon at night
and a longing, innocent eye in my sleep,
always observing but never voicing;
portraying a woman in a closed society;
perhaps asking to write on their plight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem