Think not,
I am one of such funny men
Who look only for a grain of rice
To fill up the stomach and simply
Pass out of this universe?
Think not,
I am one of such funny men
Who are made of papers and documents
To look for rules and regulations
Under a clause or section
Even to throw a coin for a beggar.
When my head is held high, I am the sky above
And when I fall, I am the seed down the earth
To come up again
Either as a cyclone
Or a gentle breeze
Dancing with flowers
I have no death.
Because, I am not the body
I have the body.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is tempting to believe in an endless cycle of incarnations. I like your poem Ponniah. I like your metaphors.