Some colored flags have emerged from rooftops.
Some chequered flags are swinging through the twigs.
Some bending towards east.
Some bowing down to west.
Some standing straight upwards.
And there are a few still lying,
Scattered and waiting for their destiny.
Some are symbolized.
Some are scribbled.
Some are both – symbolized and scribbled.
I have to stand under any one of them.
I am compelled.
I need an epitaph.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem