The lone bird streaked across the sky,
The last desperate fling of a tamed sun
Sinking slowly from the scene of struggle,
Behind the mountains and beyond the horizon.
Pratapgarh glowed in a strange hue,
Its open wounds and battle scars
Bathed in the red and yellow glory
Defying the sun to try again.
I worried about the objective correlative.
You took my hand in yours
And then I understood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem