Marginal Poem by Neelamani Sutar
Marginal
On my sphere of slow etymology, do you know the wrong words?
I have never seen two colors of light ----fashion.
I know I will never see it.
All illusions.
Intoxicated with color, the body of the dream is very relaxed,
the slow circles are calling you.
One color-matched soulless name, you call life.
The other totalitarian you call death.....
Two boats swayed at either the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/26/2026 5:13:26 AM # rel_20260825T124344Z_022792b
