It was the advent of insecurity estranged from youth that opened my fervent heart,
To unveil its will mundanely buried so many years ago.
Now I yearn for yesteryear where thunderous children run barefoot upon a hill,
crown themselves with bejeweled conifers as sunrise brings vitality.
All I want is to feel love,
said the sandman to his sculpture,
Whereas man bequeaths form yesterday's sorrows grant life.
A testament canonized to stone,
As adoration vests itself to generational empathy.
Time is our demise hollers a cricket whose metronome clocks forward through the breeze,
A reticent chorister that never leaves her shadowed enclave who speaks iconic truths from below.
Yet she brooms through flowered meadows,
As fall euthanizes her rogue voice,
Under an unforgiving fragrant lavender moon.
I am a neglected jester,
ferrous soul laid to rot,
I share my tale because you asked,
Not for pity nor exhausted smiles.
Life has dealt pious blows,
hammered through wrinkled experience,
Yet the wind that touches your face kisses mine,
then blissfully chitters down mountainous gorges to anonymity.
Who is to know!
A tryst of desperation binds us footmen as craggy evergreens on a lonely cordillera.
In need of alms and an epileptic heart that deserves a keeper
forsaken as it may be!
Adulate nature for she ovulates every breath of our existence,
traverse her ravines whose virgin streams oxygenate our body,
Imbibe her humble grandeur which diminishes the ego,
Find refuge in her quaffable umbilical haven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem