Glowing like orange moon,
the setting sun
stayed put in the west
without sinking
even after the office hours,
dejected at not being savored.
The crowd was moving
as if on an impulse.
While crossing the road
in the busy marketplace,
turned back and surprised
purely by chance,
as the traffic
came to a standstill.
Smiling,
the sun started
sinking.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem