Your time
made the yellow roses
on the hill
which had watched people be killed
mine.
Running up the spiral staircase
of the floral tower
your minutes seemed to me like hours.
Up at the very top
we could taste a tiny little bit of liberty,
but we were asked to come down
before you could say anything to me.
© in 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem