At the end of hope
What else, crumbling the
dry bodies on earth;
fires of themes, embers
my father is still alive,
and thanks to him
I can still talk to my heart.
My eyes hollowed, out of face
of seeing beyond their reach;
hearts broken and bleeding;
At the end of hope, I alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem