The twin towers stood proudly,
two Islamic pillars
in a forest of steel, glass, and acacias,
supporting the monsoon sky
in the city on the muddy delta.
And on the ground
the beer was chilled and funny,
like the food stalls it was served in,
with names like
“Fatt Tuck Choy”
or “Thin Fook Thong”.
And the sweat was impatient,
like the traffic,
penetrating the umbrellas
and the walking hijabs of colour,
in a land where tradition is
Peter Stuyvesant’s
Imodium breakfast
and Guccis are faked in China.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
really funny and painful in the end amigo della fuetro anemio Roger