A walking man, on a long, dusty and crooked road.
He hears and understands the little birds talking, and they all know that he is getting old.
He walks in silence for the endless miles, burdened with his bulky load.
His simple needs and all he wants is some peace of mind and a patch of land to call his own.
But, for the lack of kindness along his way; he picks up and travels on.
And, finally, when the end he reaches,
only his tracks are left behind.
The birds in the bushes are all giving speeches because;
he was so far ahead of his times.
And now, his path has all grown over
by weeds of every kind.
The lonely man had vanished from the earth,
from all sight and mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem