I.
And this could mean, a stationary battle
Freezing in the park bench,
With tongues that prattle
The brook gyrates with a subtle music
And the snow flakes dissipate on the frantic road
This could mean losing appetite
Or fading beyond clairvoyant sight
I do not know
A great perchance.
II.
So this could mean, a smoldering scowl
Or probably getting my skin burnt
Together with the rustling foliage
Where the sound of it tells the story
Of another hazy dream rid of lucidity
And so I will be unfrozen by the park bench
So this would mean, I would saunter endlessly
Until I reach a forked road
With a gray automobile juxtaposed near the stalwart black gates
I still do not know,
If there is a chance.
III.
And probably, this is tantamount to
Being buried underneath the rubble of the leaves
That carry the aroma of the earth,
Together with the laughter and the evening mirth
Of another playful thought meandering across
The autumn bloom
Probably this is what you fantasize about,
The monkey bars smelt like rust
And the willow trees seduce you, in a lustful dance
I think I might know,
I ought to know, a great perhaps.
IV.
The leaves will be swept away,
Driven astray, like tears after the infiltration
Of a nightmarish transcendence under the fluorescent
And the adolescents dance to the symphony of
One’s ire that will soon be engulfed by the entrenching rain
This is the first of the month, so you better clad yourself
With a skin so thick that lies couldn’t penetrate
And the deluge will soon swarm the streets
And the children will cringe in their sleep
Because of the rumbling thunder and bludgeoning lightning
Do you know? Because I still don’t,
Still, I know, it’s a great perchance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem