Sacred ground. A holy place.
Quietly reserved for longing souls.
The troubled. Lost. And indifferent.
From all over, their quest
Leads them there.
They Bow. Pray. Weep. And wait.
They scribble prayers on tiny sheets,
Then fold and tuck them in tiny cracks
Along the sacred wall.
Countless strangers have ventured there.
And countless more will come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this poem but where's that wailing wall, or may be its a heart, , (They scibble prayers on tiny sheets) . I like this line, , , Great write! ! ! !