Feeling the jet now backing off, turbulence rocking us
about, having to stay seated and keep our seat belts on.
A silvery mist hanging just outside the jet window, I
wonder curiously about it's unique presence, pondering
and dispatching each fantasy, as I investigate them.
Some kind of weather aberration is my thought as I go
back to writing poetry and listening to music, excited
to be headed closer to India.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem