With eight eyes on four sides
And four seats, there corpses
Forks and knives, salad bowls
My fork fished then in mouth
“Shall we pray? ”
Sure it was the first in this house
That was why shocked, I caught
He’s a friend with wife, and son
I am seen as member in the tribe
“Black-Brown”
In colors, faith of birth wide differ
On an screen the sky-brown height
But colors, Caribbean and an Asian
Have faded, are buried in the hearts
“We’re one”
Son prays; our heads low to listen
And “Amen”
We all say. I’m still embarrassed!
“Even now”
An honor to be there
Thank you my friend
“Jean Daniel”
And Beatriz and your son
“Teen Olivier”
Haitians hosted me, an Iranian.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem