Blind leading blind
At the door car stopped
Two got out.
One is tall; other not
Both are old
One is cane to the next.
I observe
Thoughts on rug; magic one
Years and books, trainings
Fly past.
On the board writing says:
“A blind is the cane to other…”
I come back with question:
“Where are youths and kindness? ”
See grave in dream
Mass-buried
Underneath a mountain.
And my voice in a sigh:
“We did well, to parent
And this is our harvest…
What about these people? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem