I wish that my sari could hide my old scars
To weep on your shoulder under the stars.
I wish thousand temples could open their doors,
I wish you could find one for the prayer of yours.
Take water from Ganges to water a tree
For days to fly by and sink into the sea.
Though I hear the song of a sacred flute:
“No season has come for the mango fruit”.
I’m writing my lines to be weightless like sail.
I’m hoping that winds will deliver the mail.
I’ve known you for ages but still have no clue:
How big is the ocean between me and you?
Translated by Meirzhan Kurmanov.
October 2025.
The original poem is here http://stihi.ru/2025/07/11/6411
The mango II
© Copyright: Амариэль Ка, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126012904958
Свидетельство о публикации №126012904958
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