The Colour of Water
by Mohan Rana
Rain falling, day after day,
as if trying to clean off
our permanent stains,
but all it does is discolour
this well-worn shirt,
and wash the memory
of all the passing seasons
from the walls.
This is not summer
nor autumn nor winter:
sometimes I recognize myself,
then forget.
Maybe after so much rain
all colour will be washed out
and my shirt then be the colour of water.
8.9.2008
The literal translation of this poem was made by Lucy Rosenstein
The final translated version of the poem is by Bernard O'Donoghue
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© Poetry Translation Centre 2004-2012
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