Restitution in blood. Quite crimson desiccation.
Quiet crimson dedication.
Hello this voice said. Saraihi showed me hands of her.
'Oh' they are bleeding. Why was she smiling?
She was smiling because they were bleeding.
Was the blood fake? Was it paint? Please let it be.
No it was hers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Sunil. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.