If you walk a road that ended so long ago,
and refuse to look back on your past,
The gaps between sand-dry canyons beneath our toes,
make up blank sceneries that haunt many a closed mind.
The tumbleweed still for the breeze is all thought,
and the sky is a screen to the life we once had,
Your eyes slowly close-the view is too cold,
While your head descends endlessly towards the dust.
Like veins aligning the dirt that you follow,
so many tears crawl crafting small rivers,
You watch as they run-as if nothing's to come,
And extend your hands to the hearts you've once broken.
As the sun begins to set under the dry, sound promiscuous ruin,
A blackened shadow awakens as an aflamed mirage,
Your eyes promptly open-you see the tears feed,
Feeding a cherry blossom that was celestially plastered with your unawakened dreams...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem