A day start as was yesterday
picking up pieces of fractured day
no breakfast to break the fast
but to fasten the lips with seals of distant hopes
perched on precarious beam of life.
open mound of our last journey
is not measured by number of hoes
or spades that shove back the clods
into the dugout
but by the backwards footsteps of our time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem