She
Looks blank
Like a tree after a trauma of rainstorm
Without the feeling of hunger
She
Is a mud or stone work of an artist
The airstreams can’t remove her hair
Can’t tremble her soiled frock
She
Just touched the teen
Will find her books or toys in magic dearth
Does not know what washed away
She
Waits for her playmate
Does not sense when her mother has returned
Being unsuccessful in quest of food
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem