At the edge of close-cropped lawn,
purple vetch, daisies, thistles
and buttercups grow-
a singular patch of wilderness.
Bees, drunk to find such colour, scent,
and untidiness, indulge
their senses, from dawn to dusk.
Birds are delirious.
Not just common crows or quails,
or strutting magpies,
but goldfinches, doves and nightingales,
calling, diving and plucking flies.
And on the bending tip
of seeding grass, a dragonfly,
turned and dazzled, with sapphire jewels.
As Nature crept,
seeds in her sack,
to claim her earthly garden back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem