"The death of a man is like the fall of a mighty nation..."
—Czesław Miłosz
He lies beneath a stone
that weighs more than a ton,
his skull and skeleton
like ruins left alone
for twenty hundred springs,
the ruins of a temple
in which a once great people
no longer prays or sings,
their destinies and wills
vanished with each god,
their pantheon forgot
when lowered with the hills.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poignant piece, Leo. Thanks for sharing Peace