outside
raindrops fall to the pavement
far below this forever shut window,
obscuring reflections-
i live between abstractions
reality and memory-
i pray
there is enough left of me
for my children to find the safe passage home
in this city
we pay our tithing to stone-
we are gods of aftermath
fallen from our crooked thrones
into the darkness
where we burn our pyres for warmth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked this poem very much, especially the last 4 lines, which really conveyed a powerful image.