While halting
at the edge of the dream
I heard the sound
of your batting wings.
It was the time
that we had tea
usually.
I began to hum
the song you sent
in your lieu.
You had descended
on the rim of the teacup
as a scampering ant.
Translated by: Sri Vatsa
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem