On the chalk board
Of my life
Every word
Is spelled as strife
Nothing less
Nothing more
I know will fight
Till my last
Drop of gore
In the whirlpool
I was born
Away tornadoes
Have carried me on
I am a sand dune
I move with winds
Never know
What awaits in wings
All the souls
That have crossed my path
Left imprints
Indelible marks
Tattooed marks
Variegated lines
Sketches made
Graffiti of lies
But I remain
Simple and plain
For my soul
Untouched
By mundane
I take flights
On wings
Of doves
Back to clouds
Following
My loves
A sprout
Of hope
Seems
To have
Strengthened
It's tiny roots
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem