Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
...
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I lost the path of childhood and still wandering to find out this but never it comes as before; Oh that's life the past never comes back!
A whole past lost to the Conquistadors, so tragically expressed by a truly great poet
A twig, a small remnant of a much greater thing. A remnant with its own stories, own burdens, own memories. What remnants do we leave in the trail of our living, and what will their story be to those who listen?
The roots i had left behind. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
So deeply touching and poignant. Every fiber of this poem touches the heart because of its powerful images and poetic expressions.