I am back after twenty years
and my childhood memories
are clear, but this place
is no longer as it had been.
Farm buildings are dilapidated,
the old farm house is now a ruin
with the pretty garden gone
and only a few tokens
that at a time people was living here.
The fields where maize used to grow
lie empty now, with no tractors tracking the land
only open veldt and a few thorn bushes are left
and I feel bereft, as if even the memories
are now dying, but the big oak trees
that I used to climb
are still where they used to be
and their shade is welcoming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem