It was a normal morning when
-like any other-
I opened the newspaper.
It was a normal newspaper
-with normal articles on the latest
war and human destruction
It was a normal war on
a normal wednesday morning
but then
I realized the absolute abnormality
in this
and cried.
For how can it be normal
that we're so used to
the blood, pain, tears and hate
on out photos and hands
-that we've become numb
to our own inhumane impact on the world?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem