Tattered images of yesterday continue to flow within,
as priorities fall by the wayside, gathering dust like
drops of rain.
Where can the livelihood of hope reign if not in me?
Are there propensities I know nothing of colliding
here inside?
Reliving and retelling stories of yesterday, pulling
down shades of despair today.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice. Enjoyed reading.