Nascent,
Timed, and measured,
Bubbles of soap,
Spamming out of a child's blow,
Through metal rings,
Capturing the rainbows,
That we lost the art of.
Failed to see,
In the hum drum of our lives.
Routine,
Dislocated,
A journey with known stops,
No excitement,
No C V Raman,
No Tyndall effect,
To split light into its glory.
Hardik Mahesh Vaidya.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem