The End of a Life
There were many flowers on her grave
from family, friends and foes.
they feared her lashing tongue.
The evening and night were cold,
in the morning the flowers looked
white and bloodless.
Why does it has to end like this
In utter silence it is as she had never lived.
The morning traffic is heavy
Friday, the week is coming to an end
and no one will ever know her wisdom,
the suffering she had endured.
And if remembered, she was the old woman
who spoke the truth
No one wanted to hear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem