Try not to peek into their dreams
they sleep through the day
to wither away by the night's inane desire..
bother not to name them
they won't yield
to re-die here in this sloppy world
what the river is called
is all you have
to be smitten by their purple flair..
seek not to frame them
they will vapor like tears
tell a strange story
of aching souls and misty minds
and turn into ash
to mingle in the air..
translated poem - Shaswati
photo - Ranj
