The rains of words were being accumulated in dam of thoughts. Not even one was getting passed through the flood gates, were no leaks there. Level of words was swelled, passing the red mark. A destruction was inevitable. So I decided to open some doors a little. Just a little I opened, and they passed with such an ecstasy that I opened a little more. And in procession I forgot the little house of mine near the bank of river. Now I have got no place to go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem