I signed the back of a lottery ticket, filled the name and address clearly.
The night is sleeping but still I am awake in a Gas station to fulfill the boisterous vehicles.
I hear a whisper in my decaying wallet.
'Hey! Dear this is not the winning ticket exactly but a day would be appeared and bring you the lucky chance soon.' The lottery muttered.
After a lazy yawn I speak to myself;
'Nowadays the papers talk much while the poor people shut their mouths as nothing to put in for digest.'
* To Gheorghe Zamfir!
Your divine magical pan flute's notes impress me how to grab the fleeing life?
Am I correct I that talk does not feed the hungry? I appreciate your references, personalized descriptions of the subjects in your writings. Your is heart rending. Thank You.
A bitter pill? ? One wonders if it be not so bitter but maybe inspirational. I long ago came to see that one's belongings do not belong to him but he belongs to his belongings.10
let the night sleep in its way in furrow lest flute may tell our intoning reeks how us to hold back fleeing tones, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , wonderful write by the imagery, yet of unique genre,10++, thanks for sharing
You manage to touch so many buttons in your work Nimal. The political, imaginative and poetic dimensions of this one are sublime. And Georgie Zamfir will always lift the spirit with his beautiful pan flute. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
You are always true to your own originality. A very vivid write.10, for you. Warm regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'boisterous vehicles', 'decaying wallet' - unusual but striking adjectives that bring this piece to life.