A beautiful face
Encircled me,
My moments and mask;
Whoever tried to touch
The portrait,
It turned back,
Child to adolescent,
Adolescent to youth,
Now, I never put my
Red eye to the
Novice face –
The generation to generation.
My grandma moved
From the dry land
To wavy life of grassland,
She tried to search
The face of her love,
The face of her life,
In the sky,
Within the image of self,
I have seen her tear
In the eye,
But she never crossed her shadow
In her life – within the generation.
***
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem