With a horrorful laugh, approaches
she, glamorous, splendid, in coaches,
vacating the front coach, steps
onto the pavement, dull and grey. Stops
at the sign of red, as if to emphasize
the destruction she makes, amongst people varying in size,
representing the infant to the elders. Of
course her appearance there is painful, than a loaf
of bread being wasted, extremely severe
aftermath therefore. Who can help, but still those in rear
seats and front seats, on pavements, chasing their
youthful and retirement dreams, where he lies to stare
at people, who are innocent. Death, inevitable
fate of people, being bargained when unable
for people to live safely. Why accident,
couldn't you have come when there was Jesus, the prudent?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem