As the dust settles
in our hearts
hands are left reaching,
grasping, pleading
from the concrete tombs
that enclose our lives.
We are pressed down
by the burdens of living,
unable to heal our
wounded souls.
We are losing our battle…
hoping, praying,
for someone, somewhere
to free us from the rubble
of ourselves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem