alright
i understand the feeling
we felt like wasted
grains of rice
from a leaking sack
spread on the ground
it does not matter even
if it rains or
it shines
time makes us grow
into leaves and we fruit sometime
into another hair of grains
heavy and falling
on the ripe season
the newcomers are noisy and
boisterous
riding on their cars and
keeps on planning what is good
for this left over
expect they do not remember
who we were
even a glimpse of wastage
or growths of some spring
or memories of our bitter winters
or even the summer song
understand this feeling always
the way the world moves
it will never stop
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem