Talking to you
in a dream, shadow of
my lips falls on your
face.
It was a strange
knowingness.
You wanted to give
a name to my
unborn poem.
To live was to kill
the moons, asking nothing
from sun, becoming
yourself a flame.
Something you could
do. Put faith in me
and go, pluck
the roses.
My vessel was empty.
I am pouring in some
brainy thoughts to woo you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow Sir, what a beautiful mind blowing and modern poem. Amazed at the skill of your writing. You are the king of short poems.