It lay on the floor,
Whithered from the stock,
Which held it firmly,
Lifeless and the scent
Gone forever,
Not praised by anybody,
As it was in it's prime,
Reminding of our own selves,
Stamped by the passersby,
It's beauty gone,
Shrivelled to be unrecognizable
Of which flower it is,
Bees passing by
Ignored it which tasted
It's honey till yesterday.
Ravikiran Arakkal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem