up the path
to the mountain temple
a child pleas, sobs
for food, money
thin as the stalks of shrubs
between which he sat
his thin demeanor
a knife poking
at my heart
my prayers reach
out to the gods
wherever he may be!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Spare, elegant lines written on behalf of a child whose name is known only to God.This is a very fine poem. Kindest regards, Sandra Fowler