After staying in a cottage for a month,
with no T.V., no radio, no news;
visiting lost villages and country pubs;
exploring footpaths, sampling local brews
we came home to find
the 'real world' hadn't changed.
Statesmen were still bickering as usual.
Girls were being beaten, raped or killed.
Muggings were frequent; thugs were still about.
The third world had its usual problems:
the same old wars, famine, AIDS and drought.
Feeling powerless to change the situation
we sat and watched a T.V. documentary
on space, and its projected exploration;
in search of better worlds?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem