black and white,
brown and yellow,
hands disappearing
into hands...
we leaves the sites
of graves untended,
walking towards life,
with both grief and joy!
the smoke still lingers,
and the smell of wet ashes.
but we are more,
we choose to be more!
faces long lost
gather purpose, and names,
as blood becomes,
our peace and our striving!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem