Migration Poem by Shraman bajracharya
Migration
The abode are empty
The hamlets are gone
The old's are sobbing
In the memories of their son's
The west are gold
And the east are stone
Erasing the presence
of their own
The son's are thirsty
The old are rusty
The future is gaudy
And the nation is dusty
The separation are emotional
The trend is inevitable
Contempt are the hunger
Which are unavoidable...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 8:04:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
