Gazing in the burning field, telling the story he saw.
Gunshots flying from roof to roof; the rain is sad.
Under the beds they go; the heat is among them.
In the open field there is love; so tiny, yet so strong.
The forbidden song, played; a smile upon them.
The death of a friend; the loss of a soul.
Run little boy; the story is not lost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice story....innocent boy caught in a crossfire...perhaps in a war...Thanks for sharing this poem...