As lonely as
a solitary black umbrella
shining with rain
on a dimlit night,
she sits like a gravestone,
grey hair cascading
down her tired shoulders,
surrounded by momentos
in her silent home,
willing
her children back
for so long now...
she would tell them
about the lemon tree
if only it would matter...
(25 November 2006)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem