Fractious children gather at my doors,
Knocking on walls, peeping through keyholes;
And if I open to one, they would all rush in
Like the wind rushes by, on some panic-blind day.
And then depart precipitously, like a wallcloud swirls,
Or a storm of dry leaves falls to the ground,
While leaving behind an intangible something,
Which says look, things here may have changed.
No thing's the same, as the minutes before:
And you surely know, you must have changed too
As you slowly step out, of the corpse of the old
And move toward the new doom, uncertain as ever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
amazing writing...but you know that....smiles n blessings