The quarry
A dangerous place
Scab on the earth
An operation of take
Never replaced
Transported to a mismatched place
The quarry
Where diesel infects the air
Heavy revs contort the face
Where young children sometimes play
Oblivious to this mixture of danger
The quarry is like a dying face
Where life can no longer forge a place
Where nothing can ever be returned
except the memory of playing there as a child
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem