It is not hot- the sun
The age is going on.
It is not glorious
Rather furious.
That I want to talk to you
My dear son, have patience
To mention right and wrong.
The door is open
And it is you to make entry
Your name often.
See I am a street driver
And I am forgetting my own language
And the nameless wind tells me
About my own identity at this time.
gajanan mishra
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-is-not-hot-the-sun/
