Distant borders covered in frost,
benumbed junipers forlorn;
Where warren laid on fields,
dread usual, buried beneath leas.
Imprisoned here, ruins left to hear,
barbed wire to lay blockade,
Crown of thorns, you wear;
In the midst of maw,
where trails known,
still they withstand.
Fronts resurrect, latent at places;
How they adapt in stagnant,
burdened in time, and hard to hide:
When furrows express silence.
Vales that never end,
harsh, to keep you aware;
Be way empathy,
As essence rests beside ethos:
Yet carmine hope flows,
through homes, and lucent lantern withal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem