In the early morning
under the light of dawn,
there lives a world unseen
in the shadows.
In the early morning
as the world wakes,
one city is still, in mourning.
In the early morning,
the world does not see,
the world does not hear,
the world feels not the pain
of the city in requiem.
Would the world listen,
the requiem would spread
to every city, every shadow,
every morning.
The world will not listen.
Not in the early morning
or the brisk afternoon,
nor in the evening.
In the early morning,
one city is still.
The world feels not the pain
of the city in requiem.
n the early morning,
the world feels not its tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is excelent Andrew