The magnificent picture which was,
Whipping up dust into the clouds,
The scent of the soil merging in the blood,
Structures of the ancient evoking pride,
Symbols of a deluded nation rich in heritage,
A land with boundaries with people varied,
Everyone had emblazoned in their hearts,
In letters of gold, the name motherland.
No more, spurned, driven away like cattle,
People migrating in masses too huge,
Themselves as the luggage they carry,
Some walking, some trailing, trudging
Some hitching a ride with someone,
Families once rich and poor together now,
Lots walking down the beaten path to,
A future unknown and uncertain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem