Striped poles stand
outside ‘barbershop’ windows
tattered awnings drape
over blank storefronts;
ghosts of the long departed line the streets.
A remembrance
of another time in history.
lies in faded, dingy photographs
of a time long past.
And the only hope
rests with poets and painters,
who, in broad strokes of imagination,
can restore life from ancient dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem