Those that I killed
are buried under the surface.
The surface,
where I roll my boulder up
Everyday.
To keep those dead, dead.
But when at night my boulder
rolls down the slopes of the hill,
breaking the surface
it wakes them.
Dreams, hopes and memories from past.
living deads from the graves
they rise to haunt my sleepless nights.
Everyday,
I roll the stone
Over their graves
to somehow keep them down.
Write comment. Nice poetry, Birbal. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great satire on ill-politics. The reference to the Legend of Sisyphus.