playing on the raw-coal
the under-clothes of the airhostesses
continue to sing a song
even-then the germination of the almonds
can never become the sugar-candy
made of palmyra
may be they don’t want so
until and unless any night-guard comes
and deposits the RBCs of the jack-fruit-leaves
within a wrinkle-free hand-glove
you do absorb all colours
from the soil of the earthworms
and thus unfold your open hair
along the air of this cloudy day
then none but the gughni-sellers
will get back their names and titles
there is from the sky of the timber of hog-plum
it has rained even last night
the streets are wet
the trees are wet
there is splashing mud in the low lands
those all full-of-incidents
if you wish
you can send them
to the introduction of a proposal against war
i’ve never heard that
to take the responsibility
of the starving south-east
the rain has put down its crown
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem