Standing at the doorway
Inhaling essence of raw leaves
In my repose I capture you in
The tiny irises of my mother's eyes
Petals twirl around buds
To disrobe later when a canopy
Of Spring lends you shade as a bride
Fingers are tender stalks
Colored with sparse romance
As you are laid on the conjugal bed
Blind night helps in
Wiping away remorse of a
Meek surrender in its soundless flow
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem