now that the roots are dead
and the buds cannot anymore
turn into flowers of their own
we turn back to the seeds
hidden under the ground
we look for the moist patches
and begin to sprout
we give the leaves and then
we become trees ourselves
apart from each other
now, not even knowing what
are our names
we rationalize these separations
the cycle of life
the pathways of survival
the genetic tendrils looking for the light of the sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem