Wrapped In a mindless concrete crust
The tired earth lies vanquished
Crops of past years long turned to dust
Beneath harsh streets to languish
How heavy weigh man’s monuments
On soil in darkness braving
The unrelenting, pounding steps
Of feet bent on blind cravings
The city throbs with pulsing beats
Heedless of harvest timings
And ancient forces coaxing wheat
In slow celestial rhyming
A field must rest from many years
of earth depleting labor
Instead those gray oppressing layers
pierce it with steely sabers
a little sprout of grass yet peeks
from massive pipes and boulders
delighting in the sun it seeks
nature’s strong, loving shoulders.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'How heavy weigh man's monuments', very true Liila, the sprout of grass defies the concrete, of sign of nature's strength