With lackluster elation
I tense my burning pride;
static mantras push up
the sweet lilies from the ground,
each blossom scents stray breezes
my verse has softy cried
yearning through the ages
for that close uplifting sound
contained within the pages
my heart folds loosely bound,
that holds my soul and weds my mind,
splendidly it climbs.
My angry youth was stolen,
where all I've loved has died
ruptured dreams that mangle lives,
the clock stroke loudly chimes
unintended mournings
that shift across grey skies
reaching toward salvation
for the light that fools my eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem