Mother said
Living is a fire
& the world fold me
Into the solitude of trees....
I know the history very well
....how my father left home
& my mother smoke his absence
Like petals seeking the companion of butterflies
I know the story very well
...how the August rain
Beat my mother to pulp
&
Our only hope taste like a wandering son
©mindsetWriter™
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and nicely brought forth with conviction. An insightful creation. Thanks for sharing Saviour.