No one suspected such a heartfelt sight:
father and child on a lovely summer day,
puffy clouds painting a powder blue sky.
'Going to the beach, ' they would have said.
A closer look would have shown her struggling
to keep up, desperate to match his long wicked stride
as he half dragged her through narrow streets,
gripping her trusting hand in his monstrous fist.
Someone should have heard her cry out
'Mommy! '
But no one did.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once again, vivid imagery makes the poem. Sparing use of adjectives (puffy, wicked) strengthens the contrast between what is seen and what is really going on. Nice work.