we drove
toward the curve
where once
our old house
was,
we view dilapidation
as we stop
for a while
the garden has turned
into a wild grassland
the trees became so
tall and thick
depriving the flowers
of the much needed
light
this is not ours now
and you know the feeling.
what we have, becomes
what we had,
you know the feeling.
you must have learned
by now, who and what we
are, what we become and
what we still could not
accept.
we ask ourselves what is
it that must remain.
at the root of this problem
is still us.
we cling to each other's arms
like vines to a tree
which is dying actually.
we feed on what is rotten
thriving so well
under whatever circumstances
whatever that be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem