The mirror opened:
a small creek.
It let in a sparrow,
which hung on the frame
and looked at me -
those beady eyes!
A cool wind eases out of the glass-doors.
I rest my head on the mirror-pane.
The shades grew long in the yard outside,
and the fat leaves of those unknown trees broke sweat.
I could be buried here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Taking a cue from the legend, you have unfolded a new philosophy. The opening lines are immaculate. Thanks for sharing the poem on PH.