The word has weight,
It's a weary soldier
In the war we wage
Within ourselves.
Breaking our silence
Our thoughts emerge
In the shape of words,
Always weapons
Of possible meaning.
We translate our feelings
Into inarticulate noise,
Our reality beneath layers
Of exchanges, in an infinite
search for sense.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Absolutely true…wonderfully penned. Carry on.