A sweet aroma of freshness hardly lingers,
slightly unconcealed.
Cracks in the sky invisibly splinter the clouds.
For even a moment,
all is immersed in an inquisitive silence;
the ticking of the clocks becoming deaf to the eardrums.
Amused and frightened,
the rain is hesitant to come out;
like a child quivering under the bed during a thunder storm.
Right foot then left foot press and sweep down the linen curtains;
the shadows of my mother's plants outlining their pristine shapes.
Every soul is singing,
can you not hear it from beneath your feet?
Car alarms, air-conditioning, the ticking of the clocks;
all false harmonies of man,
whilst they make futile attempts to control Nature.
Fools.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
interesting predicament, the one in the end...oh the false harmonies man, its one that has perturbed me for some while. +91 997 100 7846