The moment it felt the raw flesh of the soil
that the seed ripped apart
the tender shoot would wither
Despite intense longing
the mind-bird has got accustomed
to remain unstirred
Who at all would give mirrors
that abhor nudities which hold
in silent amazement
the dark secrets of the leaves
Here, the night too arrives
hovers as rain
Colourless
Faceless
my fear
My shadow
takes shape
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem