In search of wholeness,
the words sit around me
cutting the edge of the corn ear.
A new shibboleth, will
announce the arrival of
a bloody tribe.
In this life cycle, I
will meet you, to kidnap
a Pir for remaining silent.
Who was on the road
to give a sane advice
to the waning roses?
It was not poemtime.
The kids were bleeding
from the barbs of unknown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautifully envisioned realistic poem of life. Thanks for sharing,10 points.