Damp still, sun's rays trapped
in the womb of monsoon clouds;
As if the morning star was too
circumspect to break through the
sullen haze of uncertainty;
A herd of crows keep drilling
Into my unresponsive ears their
anxious search for morning crumbs.
Blame them not; they need to
see the day ease out.
Yeah! Is the day done with buying
a sheaf of groceries, craftily spun
T-shirt, relishing mouthfuls of
masala-laced dishes? Or is it all
to an existence which begins in
the dark ….and ends there?
A query that peters out like vaporous
wispy clouds; its hue changes
before the wink of an eye.
Uncertainty too is cloudy, empties
sooner than one can spot it.
Their crowing is down to a satiated groan now.
They or some have found their crumbs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yeah it is the day with buying, nicely expressed everything in this poem. Beautiful one.