Fog or hurdle
I was on the way
and the fog was also on the way.
It was covering trees, flowers and also me.
It was an early morning
and the sun was peeping behind the fog like a bride.
The flowers were not wavering.
The butter flies were not dancing.
These are nature’s act.
I can say only this that the fog is a hurdle in the way of smile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem