When the birds would chirp
and fill the air with joy
When the owls would cry
and send the thrills of terror and sorrow
When the drums would sound
and lift the cold hearts to the dance floor
But now voices crying
and tears streaming
i hear the sounds so demanding
the bowels of living
Life: the depths of searching
with no scent of healing
but a stench of ailing
The scent of the rhythm keeps fading
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem