Past Poem by Maria Maisuradze
Past
Skyscraping trees, wind in my hair,
Silvery brook streaming down.
Oh, how I wish I could go back there
To my old hometown.
The swing takes me to the sky,
Sweet flowery scent in the meadow.
I'm one with the birds flying by,
But behind me there's a shadow.
The shadow of past is streaming down my cheeks,
I can't go back there, no.
The wind kisses my sun-soaked skin
The swing is slowing and slowing...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 11:34:29 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
