FEVER UNFOLDED MYRIADS OF FANTACIES.
ONE OF MY FEVER NIGHTS I SAW WALT WHITMAN,
WHO WAS WROTING HIS POEM "SONG OF MY SELF'IN ONE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY NIGHTS.
HIS LONG BEARDS...THOUGHTFUL EYES...MARVELLOUS.
I HEARD THE BOUQUET OF PRAYERS OF EMILY BRONTE,
I SAW WILFRED OWEN, WHO WAS SINGING ABOUT THE FUTILITY OF WAR AND ENEMITY.
I SAW SYLVIA PLATH, WHO FOUND " DYING IS AN ART'.
I MET TED HUGHES, JOHN CLARE, EMILY DICKINSON...
I WITNESSED MY FATHERS HEAVENLY TRIP WITH THE WINGS OF WORDS.
I ENCOUNTERED THE GHOSTS WHO WERE FAMILIAR TO ME IN MY GRANNY'S BED TIME STORIES.
I TALKED TO THE OLD MEN AND WOMEN OF MY VILLAGE, WHO HAD FLOWN BEFORE MY APPEARANCE.
I SAW MY PAST BIRTHS AND DEATHS.
I HAVE TO SAY MANY MANY.....
REALLY FEVER IS A BRIDGE BETWEEN REAL AND UNREAL.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem