A kind counsellor queried me
if it had crossed my cerebral core
to push my poetic pen
towards my native tongue,
I said no,
I said it had not
as moving matter, meaning
& metaphors into a foreign realm
is daunting —
and cowardly crows
remain in situ
perched upon old telephone wires
spanning every lush countryside
till the poles have softened, ripened,
decayed from years of
years passing
till one day they topple
scattering the one last bird
— maybe later I said,
once the words fade
into the painless realm.