How much you can carry,
carving a deep gorge
during last rites
of a river?
It was a skunky remain
of the civilized terrain
gone berserk.
Oh pilgrim, don’t come
again to wash your feet
in the snow of
painted storks.
Hiding behind the tattoos
my raw galaxy perspires
climbing the graveyard
of old songs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your poems are superb! Give me a few reasons why I like your thoughts, which are sometimes wild as the victorious tiger and otherwise tamed river..Thank you for sharing your wonderful imagination here Satish Vermaji! !