From once we came,
will we all go back again,
claw our shelf out of the mud,
the muck, the dirt, the dust,
and most of all the stench,
that fills our nose,
as we go back to our homes,
indoor pluming,
may it always run,
fresh water clean my soul,
some dirt you can never clean,
blood stained clothes,
memories of just to many bodies,
laying out for every passer by to see,
water will clean it all,
but now there is no more left,
after our fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem