Behind these huts, a patch
Of paradise lies, where we chased
Grasshoppers and butterflies; sipped
Nectar from stems of wild flowers.
Today,
This village, genesis of our lives,
Home to our homes, mourns
The death of its river, suffocated,
Our elders say, by a fuming monster
A few miles away.
Fear-laden grief, like apocalypse mist,
Fills our huts, creeps into our hearts;
We strain our ears to catch
The croak of frogs.
Nothing.
We pull our blankets over our eyes,
Not knowing if tomorrow
We live or die.
Wonderful descriptive write Fidel...thank you I enjoyed it...Fi...10+
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
uv written it so vividly and poetically.. great job