Thick phantoms of wonder,
All mysteries rip,
Return with composure,
From their seasonal trip.
They return from a charred inner landscape,
From ambiguity,
From everything discolored,
From grim tranquility.
A moral being overturned,
Could have offered a helping hand,
But who could accept it,
In such a desolate land.
Somewhere through it all,
Dwells a beautiful spirit,
Whispering beneath the ruins,
And the quiet ones hear it.
Such a beautiful spirit,
A prisoner, a peasant, an orphan,
Yet somehow fresh air,
Drifting over despair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice and well articulated, keep it up and thanks for sharing. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON.