With scars of struck out poetry,
These scattered paper marigolds
Remember fondly moments when
They loved the touch of fountain pens.
In orphaned zephyrs, traversing
The spaces separating them,
They talk of those unfulfilled dreams
In which they freely fly as friends.
Translated from my Hindi poem, गेंदाफूल
gendāfūl
kaTe misron ke ghāv liye
biKHre Kāgaz ke gendāfūl
yād karte hein un lamhon ko
jab Kalam ka CHūnā bhātā thā
lāvāris halke JHonkon mein
ek dūje kī dūrī ko BHed
bāt karte hein un sapnon kī
jahān KHulke uDnā ātā thā
Minakhi Misra 