The fields rush past
A swoosh of green
A patch of blue
A colorless milieu
To the waterborne lenses
Red and brown
Mortar and soil
I stand alone
Amongst the spoils
Sinew, blood and tears colored the same
The blooms bend low
Sunflower and mustard
Yellow and ochre
Uncertain in hope
A future lost for sure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem