a bout of sorrow
a long loud call
pulls up a serpentine lane.
we're travelling to a charred destination
quick would be our journey
to the electric-pyre
but it's hard to believe death
when light is alight with life..
when a man dies keeping
an unread book open
an insurance premium unpaid
keeping an easy-armchair empty
he goes off with unglad desires
he goes away with creases on his brow
his suppressed lust whirls around
like a fish in an aquarium.
even if we forget his face
his soul roams around our house
blessing our stupid mortality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
soul roams, good write, but soul is everywhere, omnipresent, omniscient.