Rhythms sound
like that of pitter patter.Tick
tock turns to palms on the skin
of tabla. Eyes dart like
like a grandfathers swing
yet without a sea of circumstance,
all knowing God. Insects sing deep
and throbbing. Life outside
artificial light soaks the skin,
stream of coincidence
and costume. I am
captivities bride,
heavens groom
for rest leads to
disorder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem