Wherever you go, if you want, linger.
There are memories and residues galore.
There is nothing unfamiliar.
The remnants of a sweatshop we abhor.
Like the musky smell of a rotten book
But the fact is, all objects were once loved.
It doesn't matter if it was a gobbledygook-
thought. That broken toy was beloved.
A well-worn mattress brought peace and rest.
When we enter a derelict building
There are ghosts we can all manifest
Listen, and you almost hear their nattering.
Machines humming a deafening chorus;
Malnourished children wearing fedoras
In modern times, sadly, they haven't changed.
Mother's work: 60 hours; it's all a masquerade.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem