Standing tall on the arid desert floor
An ancient young man throws his arms to heaven
He cannot shout our names but knows us through our brethren
Standing there, year by year, a man of native lore.
Only seeing light and dark and feeling hot and cold
The sun scorches his hairy back as it sets in rays of gold
A silent man enduring, striving to be seen
By the forest of stone hearts, stirring in their dreams.
These hearts were etched long ago by gentle loving hands
At the dawn of time when light unchained from darkness by command
The tree wants to tell us of happiness and elation
But in piles of rubble we slumber, unaware of our salvation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem