they would cut the wings from sparrows,
and deny the face of the wind.
take the laughter from the small child,
and bury the old man's shoes.
fill the cup with oil,
and burn the pages....
erase the names and the memory
of having been...
but the sparrow flies beyond their reach,
and they cant touch the wind.
the child gives his laughter freely,
and the cup has been turned over.
the pages feed the fire with desire,
and names and memory are written on god...
we who have lived have something
they cant take away...
that we give without looking back!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem, we older ones have seen a bit of life. PH would not let me leave a comment on your poem called, I Hear, it was a fantastic poem, one day justice Will get deliverance.