I need the wind to tell me that
the meeting can never happen
I miss the wind
sometimes tiny ripples of
breeze pass by
the air comes and circles
around me
I hear ancient voices calling me
and asking me to touch lives
millions of stars blink at my feet
and float by flashes of lie
I still wait for the wind to come
and hear my song, retelling me
those stories already told...
I sit...and I wait
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem