A treaded path of crumbling gravel,
With scent of roses in humble travel,
locked on pain are my tainted senses,
tightly bound in unmade fences,
a distant grumble of hidden menace,
hollering the call for vital seance,
in the fading light of quondam day,
i heard the vox of conscience say,
relieve the onus of binding past,
relive the life that's yours at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem