A question deserves an answer,
a true answer, not the silence
between two columns sustaining
a crumbling building,
or the denial of the seed,
refusing to sprout
or to caress the wind.
Disappointed, the people take shelter
in a tree to unlearn
the language of shadows
executioners practice;
to learn the ways of the pure,
who can look at you,
without vomiting lies;
to catch the filtering light
through the rustling leaves
and turn it into prayer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
language of shadows, good write, I like it, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment. Especially read my poem'Family members' and vote.