Memories play again
long after the eyelids close
making the heart flutter,
bringing a faint smile
The shrill noises outside
pale as each second spin
masked by sweet voices
that amuse the spirit
In the moments of aches
the gleeful hours play
like a favorite journey that
rides over the sufferings
Like an anchor to the ship
they keep me at bay
shielding against the
tall tides and rough winds
the wounds and stabs
and the scars that come along
are mended with a beam and
pushed back with reassurance
along the darkest tunnels
and the most unfamiliar paths
their invisible hands assure
that all is not yet crumbled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
we all are refugees in one sense or other................the losses are mere relativistic....................your imaginations are indeed great