By Thomas Page
This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem.
The fading dye of photographs hung on living room walls
Holding idealized pasts of what was
When everything was not a worry
In ancestral planes and houses
Holding their wishes,
Numerous as Abram’s stars,
Underneath the firmament
Of all that was easy to remember
And all that was easy to forget.