Raking leaves of the past into piles of recognizable entities,
watching the breezes of guilt and fear trying to scatter them.
Fragments broken off, lying still upon the lawn of memory,
hoping to remain and continue haunting me.
Afraid to end and pick them up, for now leaving them until
they can be looked at, faced and let go into the garbage can
of past remembering.
Life beginning to finally take on some semblance of being,
forging ahead on a new plain and destination, continuing the
existence of earthly life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem