The voices were
vibrant, oriental and noisy,
yet they said nothing.
And the hand-gestures were choreographed
by a Chinese opera master,
powerfully silent,
yet they meant nothing.
And the smiles were
real and innocent,
yet they gave nothing.
And the city was
loud, fast, and bright,
yet it was alien.
A dusted artefact
in the hands of a European explorer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem