['The last Enemy, death, is to be brought to nothing.']-1 Corinthians 15: 26
If the ragged orphan boy
who could sniff the fragrance
of a poor flower in the pauper's graveyard
and swallow merrily
the muddy water
they polluted in an abandoned brook.
Walk peacefully along the thorny streets
they planted purposely?
My Son! I see you in my melancholic dreams constantly
like a hero in the dark womb
you worship enthusiastically
to an unknown God
whose name is Man?
to my dearest deceased Mom I love that painting once you sketched the serene sky with a black pastel!
nimal dunu
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem