...and they declared
something different this time-
all these days they
doubted, jarked, shrieked,
wondered, raised brows...
now they spelled,
patient died-
final and full stop!
his pen fell motionless,
atrophied beneath
th' starry heaven of thought-
this good old table-
pen lies,
some stainless flowers
at void's feet-
his rhyme ends
in decay's full stop:
some thoughts tho' left young,
tho' some pink ribboned art
not penned upon th'
table of this brooding life...
where his pen is less,
love's the least-
in penless strife,
in jungles of blank
omnipresent is that dead patient
who was his last thought...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem