A lonely blade of grass
elastic but most erect
stabs my bare feet
starving each and every footprint
of its only chance to leave
some indelible, irreplaceable and
definitely unrepentant
mark on nature’s course
Bumble bees
capture the morning hour
robbing us of its timeless power
to refresh, re-invigorate and thus
restore our aging bodies
as the threat of naked violence
looms, mid air, suspended with
daring anticipation,
anxiously awaiting their one and
only chance
The mourning sun
shadows a dying moon, as
its golden rays casually
caress, fondle, if not
molest those of us who
yearn for the light of day
Having burned the midnight oil
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem