The trees are shaking in their boots
the dust knows it has to be swept away
the leaves are dropping effortlessly
the roofs of our houses are struggling to stay rooted,
and from far a way you can hear them wailing.
Little children grip their mothers' skirts
little boys sit wailing loudly, the storm imminent.
Him.
He has no one to worry about him, so crying would be futile.
Little boy of two, he sits abandoned in a courtyard, forgotten-
helpless.
his little feet cannot carry him fast enough, or far enough to
escape the storm
terror roots him, and his are brimming with a thousand seas,
He looks about him- left- right-down-up.
he sees no one, knows no one, and his world is turning upside down
his voice chokes in his throat.
Nature cannot be tamed, save by her maker
somehow the little boy knows that, and will not try, so he sits
on his butt,
and bravely stares the storm in the face, no longer afraid
His fate resigned,
his fate sealed..............................................
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem