Where arrows walk down silent pathways in the forest,
deepest withdrawal stirs in moments of despair.
Empty, totally stepping in mires of sorrow, like mud
covering your shoes.
Looking about, seeing trees thickly grown together,
no way out until you are upon them.
Forever taking handfuls of stones, leaving trails
behind, hoping to be found.
Life stretches, pulls itself apart, folds in upon
itself and hides.
Hides beneath the coverlet of suicide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
moments of despair, I like it, thanks. Please read my poems and comment.