The seat upon the floor, the scent of a red rose. Say a word of trust, say a word of reprise. High hands towards a sky that cries tears. Say a word of a reprise, feed the hope, this is the only imperative I would like hearing in a chant of amazing voices. The feast is on. The feast is on. It will be okay!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem