A soul, in collars,
Walking untrailed trails,
Catching eyes on the lane,
To map her way to the train,
Ride along, adoring trees and wildlings,
Touch freckles of the rain,
Gazing rolling eye ,
Black haired and toothless,
Stood,offering wider arms,
Warming hands,
Weaving streaks of hair,
Kissing dense forehead down to her neck,
Leaving marks of how it all started
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem