Mina Lotfi

Grandfather - Poem by Mina Lotfi

there is a question
where is gentry?
A short answer
like a grandfather.
look at roots,
cutting them is impossible.
It is about years,
His hand callus being.
someone grow grass,
under the light of sun.
there is no answer,
for my puzzle.
Ask me another question.
when soil is green,
there is no fear.
My roots has gone,
To the end of soil.
I have found an answer,
These grass,
one day be yellow
on the hand of sun.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, November 10, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, November 12, 2013

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