This does not belongs to a King or a Superior.
An innumerable mass grave.
The inhumane just pretend as immaculate
those wolves who brought these innocents
to this isolated graveyard.
The old bearded Stonemason believes
while he was carving he heard some whispers of children,
men and women.
Although they were forgotten names in the Census
the forget-me-not flowers still bloom on their graves.
The tragedy of those whose names are known only to God. It is if the people in your poem have become the flowers whispering, 'forget me not' to a largely indifferent world. May your memories of your mother be a solace to you. on this August day. Fine work, Nimal. Sandra
I believe she got your message very clearly Nimal. 'God bless your mother'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very moving piece. Terribly sorry for your loss. Susie.