The gates slam hard as the animals march through single file. Every one of them comrade-in-arms without a leader. Just following.
Up a head the first beast is jettisoned without questioning why. The masses who are next have piercing cries, as the sound of thunder roars along this floorboard of red stained souls caused by excitable hooves.
'What's happening up ahead in the line? What's that effluvium going around these steel gates? - I can't see. But I'm getting pushed closer to the front line'.
'I don't know either, maybe the gateway to the Celestial City my brother'.
'Maybe murder'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem