Your dark skin, Nita, is my prison,
Beyond which I don’t see any beam.
Your wordless words are its lock
Beyond which I don’t hear any din.
There are like me many prisoners,
Who serve in you for a life time,
Whereas I shall till death takes me.
That the freedom is heaven
Is disproved by your prison.
22.11.2002
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem