Cars and donkey carts, dust and noise, heat and mob
of humanity in a narrow street...Shoving and pushing
yet affable, of peoples who share a common bond.
A sharp flash that for a moment blinds the sun, then
the blast of an explosion, a shocked silence one can
hear a ticking clock, miles away.
Ambulance, police, screams and blood, when chaos
has abated, what’s left in the street are sandals that
belonged to those in the morgue...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem