Popcorns and movies,
Grilled chicken and cold beer;
Soft music playing and people
Are tapping floor as they
Order foods from menus;
Coal dusts in the air;
It is suffocating while walking
The streets; careless citizens
Don't wear masks.
Money grows in coal;
Digging and selling and re-selling.
Trucks ply the roads in hundreds.
Dusts that settle on rooftops,
Enters bed rooms and kitchens
Through windows and doors;
No one cares.
There is money in death here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem