The air is hot and ominous,
A stench is settling on us,
Like ashes over our skin.
How did this begin?
Bones held in hands
Took foreign lands;
Fires on sticks
Extinquished the magic
That once held us in awe.
Then the sky's truly lit,
They've fired bigger sticks
From beneath the waves,
Into the air,
Or silos hidden
Well below the stars,
With brighter candles travelling far
That darken skies,
Turn day to night,
And colour our skin
With ashes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful poem on war topic shared here with interesting view. Wisely penned poem shared with reality.10