Because of its scars, the roots can walk now.
By metal almost defeated.
Forced to move in order to live,
To walk they’ve learned.
Made of Roots, now legs,
Roots walking by legs move.
As Legs now they behave,
So legs now they are called,
As feet is seen down bellow,
Still in its memory, scattered roots they are.
With its scars still bleeding,
Afraid to fly without wings,
By the Uno, granted the power
to travel, to move.
Hurt granted a power to root again.
Until it bleeds, until it pumps blood,
Alive the roots hold a choice,
To root again, where heart grounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem