Someone's heart-door shuts
And the song of life never comes out.
Someone mutters
But it's voiceless
And in the feverish air
That never travels to her
Unless a great force.
Oh! It's a gloomy Sunday
The unusual bench in the park
Waits for a stranger to chat.
But the park gate was closed
As the gate-keeper lost his bunch of keys
After a nightcap.
A handsome beggar found the keys in an early morning
At the tavern door step
And he thinks he could enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
* All the time I feel that someone knocks at my door,
And I peep out but nobody's there.
I have heard that the death has a habit of knocking at doors?
Mysterious, but compelling. Your imagery is rich. Your mood carries the day. Always your friend in poetry, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Enigmatic, wistful and with an undercurrent of ennui, this superb poem that reminds me of Dylan Thomas' The Hunchback in the Park. Your poetic imagination never fails to amaze, Nimal. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥