Sometimes words can't be enough
But silence still can't take their place
As the wind stirred the still tree
We closed the door from swirls of dust
When we should have sat in the veranda
Conversing in low tones of surrender
Our heads yellowed by the bulb flash
We hurried to bolt the window, and shut out the songs of the awakened tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem