A nation of mass graves, of mourning
mothers and grieving fathers, spell bound
in a cloud of burning rainbow candles, death
hangs as the sun far but close enough to
burn, to blind the young, not to see the
battle field, from the idea of a township,
the war has been waged, the young won't
know until they are casuals like their elderly.
|Suss KaMzibeni|
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem