Beside the bodies of a man and woman
an infant sits sifting sand
through her fingers.
In the battle zone
that was a village
he lifts his camera
composes the shot
releases the shutter:
an image floods the lens,
is encoded.
On the front page
of the Sunday News
the image of a small
child sifting sand
through her fingers
beside two reclining figures
will be decoded
over breakfast
after the agonising
sports results
have been digested.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem