He had walked the desert
For a lifetime; he had pursued trails
Leading nowhere but to buried dreams.
He was at last on the trail of the dead.
The winding last trail he could take.
Every other way was misleading, confusing.
He accepted that he had to suffer,
And suffer greatly,
Because he had worn-out feet.
Without feet he had no trails left.
Except one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the philosophy of this poem and indeed many have travelled this path and the last line sews it up perfect..we would be so lucky...regards