The word originates in bliss.
Sparkles, twists, shivers,
At times weeps, at times smiles,
Playful often, also, at times cruel.
Of course it is this or that,
That or this; bright or dark.
Red, blue, yellow or grey.
Violet, indigo-call spectrum.
Word like an ant moves one
Behind one; but thought
Makes the word overlap,
Knitted, adhered, embraced
And it flows into the mind,
To be the glorious sixth sense.
From there it penetrates into
The apt, becomes sharper and
Also runs like a dog smelling,
The entire path, identifying each spot
Moment and pulse.Then it smiles
Or roars, walks or, runs, or flies
20 Dr.K.G.Balakris hnan
To the sky to be the shape
Which we notify.
Word, you are wonderful Creator
Of any thing and of every thing.
With out you, blank life is; vacuum, zero.
With you, full, blossom, fragrant, live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem