A small draft of air:
The aftermath of destruction,
Nothing moves, nothing settles.
Everything is calm, peaceful, collected;
The silent few: unprotected.
We sit; unmoving –
Shadows of lives forgotten.
Huddled around
Our souls lay bare. We contemplate,
Time will tell, and reveal our fate.
Unable to move, to breathe, we
Wait for a sign. A hope. A dream.
And still we wait.
The Earth stands still as we few become one,
No longer exposed to the light of the Sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem