Where will the white leaves fall?
wasted upon the grey earth,
where, so many years ago,
we knelt in prayer:
at the feet of a figurehead;
at the feet of a figurine.
withering at the root of the tree;
white leaves in acridity
as our autumn fades to their winter
where will his gaze drift?
to our eyes, where we hide our fears? ;
to our feet where we hide our needs? ;
to our loins, where we hide our selves? ;
or instead, will they drift south,
to the islands our fathers left untouched...
where will the white leaves fall?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem