Above my head a new day doesn't clear up, it brings the old clouds.
And each new day here is a small eternity.
It's lingering at my door, like a poor wife, to walk off, -
or it is, as if it were rising from my dreams, as though it were a
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liked it a lot...but would love to read one of yours too...love...nalini
This is a real good poem. Thank you very much for translating it to us. Anjana