The index of the point of a spear
In parabola directs action.
Touching ground leaves no clear
Statement of its course in air.
A sleek quick motion whizzing
Through thick and thin disappears.
Light rootless objects get stirred,
Bewildered breathless reactionaries.
Discourse is self ironic, tracing
Darting spears, in-construable spirits.
Somewhere down the line in history
We too have been caught mid-air and hauled.
Date: Knots 2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Soc' is famous for his discourse in the pages of history- stir words till attains momentum