harmony untouched,
withered souls in their unrest
close weary, old eyes.
grasping silver can
loose change will never change things,
keep grasping the can.
large, empty buildings,
motionless, devoid of sound
as men sleep on streets.
debased, head lowered,
unwashed locks of hair,
stains- skin deep, soul deep
the sting of winter
on cold, barren fingertips
reminders of loss.
*The title is also a Haiku*
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem