MY HOUSE
My house in the village
Is desolated like old wells,
Once provider of shelter,
Now waiting someone to take shelter,
It has within it passed years
Like a baby in the womb,
Ancestors, their memories,
Can we live the passed time again,
Will science provide us,
The privelege to return in the past,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem