Hands cupped around a mouth,
Small hot breaths constantly blowing.
Those close to death have many doubts
While others pass by without even knowing.
The sad silence of December.
Long, white streets lace through the city.
The homeless try so hard to remember.
How good their life used to be.
People lost on Christmas eve
Tired with no clothing nor food.
Drifting along the empty streets
Happiness is their only pursuit.
So many things we can't comprehend,
Looking past the poor like they don't exist.
Those begging for money we wish to be damned
Only thinking 'They'll be fine, ' the thought; it persists.
This is a nightmare that never ends,
A sick feeling that tugs at our hearts.
How long are we going to pretend?
That these people are hidden in the dark?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very melancholic and well-written poem. I like it.