Polis intercepts
the palace, grieving on the
body of an old horse.
You don't appear of
this world, with your invisible
wings of majenta flames.
Listen now soundlessly
I drink hawthorn daily for the
sake of unborn poems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely expression exploring the abstract realities of life. Thanks, Satish ji.