Rustle of a dress, a photograph.
Mind races, thoughts rush.
The scene changes rapidly.
That small kid-return-his sweet memories.
Returns-those carefree times whence lived he, his friends, his World.
Piercing-the amaranthine conglomeration of past-forgotten memories.
Brief is his venture-beckoning through the starngles of cruel time.
Mist-it fades, away it melts, away in the black abyss of distant time.
Time-the ultimate Truth, the inky blackness.
The morbid mind gropes-winces to grasp the Truth,
projected in the motley garb of sweet renascent.
Nothing cannot be grasped.
Dreams are sensed slipping.
Past-the collage, the mosaic, mottled with memories fades.
The Nimbus bursts and disappears-the twinkling dew drops.
End of a melodious recap.
Mind seeks Nirvana in seclusion.
The melancholy melodious mesmerism heals the morbid.
The merry mesh merges with Nirvana.
The inflamed gets quenched after a storm-cool and calm.
And now on an isolated path a lonely tree stands.
But a nexus remains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fantastic poem, like it, a great write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, Someone Once Told Me.