She flew past the snow capped howdahs,
Down the slopes of tears,
meandered onto a sylvan accouchement,
Encroached by a living sea.
Under a raspberry leaf,
Bonded by an epistolary of thoughts,
It is the pursuit of moksha,
That heralds her divine existence.
Now flowing at a natural pace,
Eloquently fluttering an elytrous
shell,
A cluster of seers accouter,
To douse in her ladybugs wings.
She makes no sounds,
Enamored with her truth,
Pheromones does she release,
Calling to the monks of Mount Meru.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
flowing at a natural pace, good one..