sometimes
i know that you do not like poetry
like the way you detest
drama
i know that you pretend you like poetry
since i sided with you
when we talk we converge
at the junction of our
likings
you know that i too hold on to poetry
like a rope on that mountainside
when we reach the top of that
three thousand steps
don't bother
i like the way you do not like it
it makes me feel
that some people too are odd
that they are not like me
and that makes a nice tapestry
of blue and black
white and yellow
red and green
like a basket of ball
peppers
of mangoes and guavas
like the way how nature presents itself to us
some sky some stones
some birds some worms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem