Rocky slope of hope the fissures
in stone would ask.
Many are the thought that led you
here to be of deaf
persuasion.
Obsidian of brightest hue dared to
glance on it.
Ramblings of my mind unsure to hear
the stone speak such.
It is not in silence you weap the mountains
strain as well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem