A man in London and damp skies up here
Declare rain and storm; a dark wave rears up
But the blow does not fall. My footsteps veer
Into alleyways of a mildewed look.
Across this country the same will be found
In various stages of decay, these
Utopias that planners handed down
Each so many houses, so many trees.
Echoing, I do not thread tight enough,
Tunnel of boarded shafts, sky and concrete
Resounds to startled dogs and nervous feet,
Despite efforts the future will be rough
For a shattered country, the planners theme
Is to hand happiness out, it’s a dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem