Pool of blood
On the road of asphalt
saw something in blood
was black; in a red background
furry part danced in wind
like flag in an arm
a part that rose and fell.
As you do and others
I became onlooker
spy-like got close
eyes soured, I cried.
It was a squirrel
Killed, crushed by a car.
Time has passed, out of sight,
but then meant, just seconds
and the tail was fresh.
Though over and bygone
the questions are many
they remain in my mind.
Some of them are basis:
“This is right, that is wrong…
To me this land belongs.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem