Sulfuric ash is floating up from the rubbish.
The heat singes every hair
Sweat drips down my temple.
Death is the scent in the air.
I fear that I won’t make it back.
The liquid flame consumed my legs.
I guess I must die in this hell,
And let the heat cook away my life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem