A near cult glows/ on faces―
for harvesting peace,
saluting each other, without flame.
I have come so far
though you did not want the winds to move.
A new theme was
developing. The first wicket has fallen.
The collective suicide
will follow.
Invoking the sun, you stay in shadows,
without qualms to hear
the swish of swords.
The phenomenalist,
strides confidingly to read your mind.
Heart cries―
Uncontrollably.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Invoking the sun, you stay in shadows, without qualms to hear the swish of swords. Beautiful lines. Thanks for the sharing. 10 for the nice poem.