no need to repent for whatever is lost,
while you sit as the praying mantis,
on the verandah of the abandoned hut,
where we had shared once, but for years,
the cobweb of the vessels decorate,
the simple dhoti simply outgrown,
you are alone, thinking the deepest,
thought; no one could ever predict,
once upon a time it was the house of madness,
all mad people have grown from the seeds,
we were in a mad rush, not seen our faces,
the hut is so small, but our hearts are apart,
noises were chased our while solitude,
arrives with a crown to rule the empty chairs,
once in a while the whats up beeps,
Skype is on and the made people are seen..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem