Paths are obstructed at the no-man’s land
where they die gasping at the boundary
against the barbs grounded at either side.
Let me move without a stop
I want to excavate the old stories
the customs, the norms and the mores
to make a tribe of a people
who have no schisms, no forms
and dance only to the tune of Nature.
Published in ken* again Fall 2009 (Vol.10, No.3) (Oct-Dec)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem