Let the barren space grown between us
grow weeds…
…let the humming bird suffer a paralysed note,
Let the seasons of past glory mock me in this oblong, dismal hour,
….but I won’t utter a word.
What time is it, what planet, what tide?
…let all queries ooze out like fresh red blood
thick from a thorny wound….
I’ll lie nestled in my mind’s cave
where no fresh rays reach me
and no darkness is jagged enough to penetrate me…
let the cuckoo come calling….
still, I won’t utter a word.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES! Often the ones who are silent have the most to say. Often those who are weakest and the most insignificant accomplish the most good. May you always do the same Priya, in your poems and elsewhere. Shane
the resolution to be resolute is put forth brilliantly... Asma...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great poem but I won’t utter a word. keep writing wishes jibin.........