He told no one
He would travel
And won't come back
From the look of things
It prompted him too.
Back from the farm
He rested under the tree
In the compound and he never woke up
He had no bath
No lunch
No change of clothes
He left without his luggage
As he slept on his eternal bed
We wept
We cried
We mourned
Still all upon deaf ears fell
He shook not
He breathed not
Till he slept alone
In his grave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem