If I had loved you by knowing,
The way one knows lame loving
There would have been only winters.
If I had loved with my jaded eyes,
The butterflies would have died colourless,
And the boughs lived perpetually bare.
This spring arises from my blindness,
From the fragrance of unseen roots
that even the tree cannot fathom.
This slow birthing of flowers
follows my secret lovemaking
to that which isn't raw and savage in you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Asha L. K. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.