We are the verses cloaked in roadside dust,
left lying silent at the edge of dusk,
unraveled by the fleeting hands of time,
slowly fading within the interlude.
Perhaps we once were letters rich with meaning,
penned with deep longing on the story's page,
yet the wind has swept away our voice,
leaving behind a silence void of words
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem