It's not the chirping of crickets...
It's not the darkness that obstructs view...
It's not the hooting of the owls
neither is it the careless running of rodents;
which ends up colliding with feet...
It's not that severe silence we encounter,
when every word has become a mental picture...
It's not the absence of the sun,
Nor that of a song thush...
It's not the unrecognized shadows of forest trees-most times
appearing like wandering ghosts...no, these
are not what actually breeds night-fear...
But the uncertainty and unpredictability of a new day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. Imagination, Samson. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks